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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25824751">The Endurance Stone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah'>wtfkovah</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gentleman Hunter Lee Jihoon (Seungcheol helps somewhat) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Horror, Ancient Egyptian Literature &amp; Mythology, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Violence, Crack, Creepy, Enemies to Friends, Eventual Romance, First Meetings, Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Meet-Cute, Monster Hunters, Mutual Pining, Original Mythology, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:22:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25824751</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jihoon, the fourth, final and forgotten son of a wealthy family of gentry, departs home when a distant dear old Uncle requests his assistance. Little does he know that deception, danger and disaster await him. As well as the most infuriating man he'll ever meet, Mr Choi.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gentleman Hunter Lee Jihoon (Seungcheol helps somewhat) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>279</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Endurance Stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Playlist<br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyknBTm_YyM">Camille Saint-Saëns - Danse Macabre</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xAwSxtaD4II">Alexey Voytenko-The music of Erich Zann</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Em3C9MdJgLs">Elliot Goldenthal-Libera Me</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phBThlPTBEg">Dmitri Shostakovich - Waltz No. 2</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7rxl5KsPjs">Tartini Violin Sonata in G minor-Devil's Trill Sonata</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPp3Qh-GRqs">Khachaturian-Masquerade Suite</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXQCPAR0EHo">Rachmaninov - Prelude in C Sharp Minor</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ArUqZaKh4k">Chamber Symphony, Op. 110a - II. Allegro Molto</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5poSw7tFLB4">Tchaikovsky - Marche Slave</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZKJc8v7i9m0">Phillip Glass-Violin Concerto, 2nd movement</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLp_Hh6DKWc">Grieg - In the Hall of the Mountain King</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GXFSK0ogeg4">Carl Orff-O Fortuna-Carmina Burana</a><br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W3ILbnHhAzk">Amilcare Ponchielli - Dance of the Hours</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>“You’ll write to me, wont you Jihoon? Promise me you’ll write.”</p><p>Jihoon considers the selection of cravats in front of him, and decides to bring them all. If he’s lucky, he won’t have to attend any high society dinners for the foreseeable future—but if he’s unlucky, he might just need an extra cravat to fashion a sling when he inevitably falls out of a tree in the middle of the rainforest. Or perhaps, he’ll need one to staunch the bloody gash he receives when a wild boar gores him……after he disturbs their rest when he inevitably falls out of a tree in the middle of the rainforest.</p><p>Cravats are tremendously useful if given a little imagination.</p><p>“I dare say I will not have the time to write to you Jisoo.” He finally says, packing the cravats into his portmanteau, “I’ll be too busy accompanying Uncle Weerus on his travels far and wide to even pick up a quill. You’ll just have to <em>imagine</em> all the wonderful adventures I will be having.”</p><p>Behind him, he hears the mattress creak as Jisoo throws himself down atop the bed, and turns to catch the petulant shift in his expression. </p><p>“It’s not fair that he has invited you alone. Certainly he is well off enough to afford <em>two</em> assistants.”</p><p>Jihoon lets out a dubious snort. “What do <em>you</em> know of archaeology and the importance of Uncle’s travels? You have never expressed an interest in either, whereas I have been in correspondence with Uncle Weerus for years. The very reason he has invited me along is because we share the same passion for exploration. He has many nephews and I am the only one who’s ever bothered to write to him.”</p><p>Jisoo snorts derisively. “If I knew a letter or two would have curried that old fart’s favour, I would have written many.”</p><p>Levelling him a disapproving look over his shoulder, Jihoon returns to his packing. He still has his books to arrange, and his magnifying glasses. He dearly wishes he could take his collection of pinned butterflies too, but there’s hardly any room left in his trunk and his collection is <em>substantial</em>. He’ll just have to leave them in his brother’s care and hope he collects more specimens along the way.</p><p>“Where do you think he will take you?” Jisoo pipes up, thumbing through the stack of books.</p><p>Jihoon can’t think of a way to answer that honestly which won’t invite <em>further</em> questioning from both his brother <em>and</em> his meddling parents. The contents of the letter were vague—they only promised a wild adventure should he be up for the challenge. That was all the encouragement Jihoon needed.</p><p>“I’m not sure. He has only just returned from a trip to Romania, so perhaps he will journey even further next time. Now, will you leave me to pack in peace! My carriage leaves in the morning and I still have to pack my books.”</p><p>Jisoo rolls his eyes, but slides off Jihoon’s bed and onto his feet.</p><p>Needless to say, Jihoon doesn’t mind where Uncle Weerus decides to travel to next, as long as he is able to accompany him, he will willingly go wherever his compass dictates. Anywhere is better than home, where he is the fourth and final and forgotten son, doomed to a life of begrudgery.</p><p>It’s not that his parents are the unfeeling sort, but their ambitions for him never amounted to much beyond a lengthy career as a clergyman. And since Jihoon could think of nothing worse than preaching a doctrine he did not believe in, he was immediately labelled as a lost cause—the <em>problem child—</em>forced to endure an adulthood of disappointed tutting at the family dining table.</p><p>A love of exploration and a desire to travel the world studying Butterflies was not an occupation befitting a gentleman of his societal rank, it had turned out.</p><p>So when Uncle Weerus’ offer arrived in the post, Jihoon could not contain his glee. It was exactly the opportunity he’d been holding out for since he was scolded by his tutor for being too studious, and with only a few months till his 19<sup>th</sup> Birthday, the timing could not be more perfect.  </p><p>His parents disapproved of the idea of course—as parents often do, and even threatened to cut his finances off entirely. But Jihoon paid them no bother; he's been waiting his whole life for this, and he doesn't plan to squander what luck has laid before him. He'll forge his own path if he must—fight his way to something better or die trying. He'll <em>make something</em> out of a life that ended before he was even born, and he'll do it with eight, nine—no <em>twelve</em> cravats.   </p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>The journey to Weerus Manor is not a particularly pleasant one. At times the roads are rough, the horses hooves kicking up stones and mud as they gallop along, and the coachman is a fast and nearly reckless driver, prone to sudden sharp turns and bouts of increased speed. </p><p>It probably would have been a great deal <em>more</em> comfortable if Jihoon had remained <em>inside</em> the carriage, but he’d vacated his seat for the elderly couple who could only afford the top of the waggon, as the thought of them clutching on for dear life didn’t sit well with him.</p><p>Jihoon doesn’t mind however—he welcomes the change, the sense of adventure, a prelude of what is to come in his new life of travel. The coachman has many an interesting story to tell too, about his life and experiences in the Navy, and though Jihoon struggles to relate to any of it, it’s still fascinating to hear.  </p><p>Unlike his brothers, he has no interest in maintaining the ranks of high society. Even though he has been raised as the son of an Earl and accustomed to the comforts that brings, he has always felt a bit like a square peg trying to fit in a round hole. More often than not, he has to watch his tongue, reel in his thoughts before speaking, and remind himself that those of his class seldom have any real interest in how the less fortunate live.</p><p>It’s one of the reasons he relishes this chance to escape from his parent’s clutches; to have the freedom to explore a world he knows so little of.   </p><p>Eventually the driver reaches the crossroad and takes the northern fork, passing the old oak tree that signals the boundary of Uncle Weerus’ estate. The carriage speeds as the road begins to slope down and Jihoon fights down a wave of excitement by lacing his gloved hands together tightly, steeling himself for the first appearance of Weerus Manor’s spires over through the trees.</p><p>They rise, pointed and dark as ever, but as more of the <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/cd0994444cf1e4a456d3fdb7f7e9b08f/fb5bd7ca9847a238-25/s400x600/e8e455f74e7296e49c9346529bf5d3f508673be7.jpg">house</a> comes into view Jihoon sees that the Manor is now surrounded by untamed shrubbery and thick layers of mist, and the dark clouds hanging over the house like a shroud are at odds with the soft spring day all around them.</p><p>It gives a slightly <em>ominous</em> look to the place, and Jihoon can’t help but shiver. What had once stood proud and majestic against the northern hillsides now looks a bit decrepit and menacing. Like a dark, malevolent entity of wood and stone.</p><p>Not how he remembers Weerus Manor <em>at all</em>.</p><p>When the ground levels out, and the big iron gates come into view, the driver clears his throat.</p><p>“That where he headin?”</p><p>“Ah, uh, yes.”</p><p>The driver eyes him for a moment as they take the final turn for the manor, “Sorry to say it lad, but you paint a much finer picture of it in yer stories.”</p><p>Jihoon stares at the Manor’s broken iron gate as they pass; the paint has begun to peel, and what had once been a vibrant green is now a rusty copper.</p><p>“It <em>has</em> been a long while since I last visited. I suppose I remember it a little <em>differently</em>.”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Mr Kim, Uncle Weerus’ steward and man of business, is a tall, gaunt man with flaring grey sideburns and a stern expression that belies his friendly nature.</p><p>He meets Jihoon at the front of the house with a small contingent of staff and greets him warmly, clapping him soundly on the shoulder and ushering him inside as the footman struggles with his trunk.   </p><p>It’s been years since Jihoon wrote to Mr Kim last, and even longer since they last met, but Jihoon has fond memories of him as the kindly steward who snuck him cakes before dinner. Shaking his hand is like that of shaking an old friend’s.  </p><p>“And where is dear Uncle Weerus? Is he in his study?”</p><p>For a moment, Mr Kim looks worried, but then he rights his expression to bland indifference. “Your uncle sends his apologies, but he was feeling unwell and has retired early today.”</p><p>Checking his pocket watch, Jihoon frowns a little; it’s not even half past three. “Oh dear, I hope it is nothing too serious?”</p><p>“Nothing a good night’s rest won’t heal, I’m sure.” Mr Kim replies in a quiet way. His eyes are evasive, posture stiff—but before Jihoon can ask any further questions, he’s bowing politely and holding a hand out to lead him down the hall.</p><p>“You must be tired after you journey Master Lee, please, allow me to show you to your room.”</p><p>Jihoon had rather expected that duty to fall to the Butler, except there doesn’t seem to be one. In fact, the house seems mostly deserted bar for a few maids he spots sweeping the foyer and the single footman that helped him with his trunk.</p><p>The room they have prepared for him is pristine however, and perfectly situated to offer a view of the rolling hillsides, though it’s the décor that catches Jihoon’s attention the most.</p><p>Uncle Weerus travelled extensively in his former years, and brought back most of the world with him, filling every crook and cranny and spare shelf in the Manor until each room resembled the scrupulously upkept haven of an eccentric art collector. </p><p>The tropical wildlife theme in Jihoon’s room is especially unique, with tribal tapestries and brightly coloured rugs, and so many dead, stuffed animals with glassy eyes that honestly, it’s a little <em>unnerving</em>.</p><p>Jihoon has never seen quite so many products of a taxidermist's trade outside a <em>museum</em>.</p><p>Even the dressing table, a beautiful slab of dark red marble, is covered with fossilised shells and crystalized lizards, and draped over the bed, is the most frightful looking leopard skin hide.</p><p>Thankfully the bed itself looks comfortable enough, and with no valet present to assist him, Jihoon sweeps aside some pretty but inconveniently placed fossil shells to make room for his travelling bag as he begins to unpack.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>During the brief interlude before dinner is served, Jihoon takes a moment to explore the house and the surrounding gardens, and is sincerely shocked to find things in such a shabby state. Building projects started decades ago lie unfinished, the once beautiful landscape garden has overgrown to monstrous proportions, and the Folly, which is still outstanding in many respects, is in utterly deplorable condition. </p><p>And the roof, oh god, the <em>roof</em>.</p><p>Jihoon can’t believe he didn’t notice the scaffolding as his carriage approached, because it covers both the north <em>and</em> south wings of the Manor. The entirety of the servant’s quarters on the third floor has been deemed uninhabitable as a result, seeing as they currently look like a decrepit <em>mine shaft</em>, with decaying support beams lining the corridors, holding up what remains of the roof.   </p><p>In those first few hours of exploration, Jihoon can scarcely wrap his head around the notion that this is Weerus Manor at all, a place he’d recalled with such majestic beauty as a child, and further exploration inside the house only fuels his concerns. Surfaces that once gleamed with polish are now covered in dust, in danger of splintering due to drying out; prized pieces of art collected from around the globe no longer hang in the main hall, and no one, not a soul, can account for the whereabouts of Mrs Weerus’ elaborate silver collection.</p><p>It certainly doesn’t help that only a handful of the once fifty-strong staff remain. A fact that is never more apparent than when dinner is finally served, and poor Mr Kim is forced to play the role of steward, butler <em>and</em> footman at the dining table to compensate.</p><p>Jihoon can’t help but feel overwrought that the entire dining room has been set when he is the sole diner, but he is soon distracted by the meal set out in front of him, and the spoon which he picks up that has tarnished horribly from disuse.</p><p>“Ah, allow me to fetch you another.” Mr Kim says, scrambling to take the spoon.</p><p>Jihoon waves him off quickly; the poor man already seems to be rushed off his feet juggling the wine, the linens and the serving spoons.</p><p>“That’s quite alright Mr Kim, it’s just a little stain. Now please, sit. I insist that you join me.”</p><p>Mr Kim seems taken aback by the offer, but at Jihoon’s insistence he fetches a plate and begins to serve himself.</p><p>Jihoon waits until he’s seated comfortably and begun to eat before probing him gently.</p><p>“I hope you don’t mind me saying so Mr Kim, but that house does seem to be running on somewhat of a <em>skeleton</em> crew. Has there been a mass exodus, or have you simply given the staff the night off?”</p><p>Mr Kim absorbs Jihoon's phrasing of that sentence and nods with the gravity of an archbishop. “I’m afraid it’s neither, Master Lee. We have been operating with minimal staff for quite some time now. A few years in fact. Lord Weerus’ frequent trips abroad often necessitate the house to be closed up for many months out of the year, and many of the original servants sought gainful employment elsewhere instead of facing the prospect of a reduced salary. We had been managing reasonably well between myself, Mr Jeon the butler, and a handful of dedicated staff. But shortly after Lord Weerus’ return from his trip to Romania, one of the footmen and three of the parlour maids upped and vanished in the middle of the night.”</p><p>Jihoon swallows quickly, almost choking in his haste.</p><p>“V-va,” He cough to clear his throat, “Vanished?”</p><p>Mr Kim nods gloomily, “Yes, it was quite perplexing. There was no note left, and none of them had given any indication of wishing to leave, but they must have been in quite a hurry to depart; they left most of their belongings behind.”</p><p>“How strange.” Jihoon spears a sprout on a fork, which he holds up as he ponders the information, “I can’t imagine them seeking gainful employment without a suitable reference.”</p><p>Mr Kim merely nods, continuing to eat.</p><p>“Mr Jeon was our most recent departure. He left only last week, but he at least was kind enough to give me notice beforehand. Though oddly enough, he too neglected to take most of his belongings with him, and I have yet to obtain a forwarding address to maintain correspondence.”</p><p>Some spark of curiosity prompts Jihoon to say, “You were good friends I take it?”</p><p>Mr Kim flushes ever so slightly, but keeps his eyes on his food. “Yes, we maintained a very fruitful partnership for many years, and I was surprised to see him leave. He was an excellent Butler and I must admit, since his departure I have felt quite out of sorts managing everything myself.”</p><p>Jihoon nods in understanding, offering Mr Kim a warm smile; it’s impossible not to feel for the chap. He is so likeable, and his long face is so woe begotten.</p><p>“Don’t worry Mr Kim, I will speak to my Uncle, see if we can have more help hired to assist you.”</p><p>Mr Kim’s face looks somewhat <em>pained</em> at this, but he offers no protest.  </p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon’s first night in Weerus Manor is an uncomfortable one to say the least. He’s never kept normal sleeping hours as a rule—he falls asleep at his books more nights than he’d like to admit—but there’s something profoundly disturbing about the atmosphere that descends over the house when night falls. As if the world is holding its breath.</p><p>If Jihoon were feeling charitable, he’d attribute it to the state of the house itself, so old and empty, it would be hard for anyone to find peace if they were not used to it. But everything, even the ornaments and artifacts in his room that shone so brightly during the day have taken on a cold sinister edge in the darkness.</p><p>The moonlight filtering through his curtains only worsens the feeling, long shadows strangling every corner, casting the floor in wavering patterns. And there's also the small matter of the low <em>droning</em> creak from the ceiling, like someone’s moving upstairs.</p><p>Which…which shouldn’t be possible, because those rooms have long been vacated for the roof repairs, and the remaining servants have already been rehoused in the West wing. It’s not safe for <em>anyone</em> to be wandering around up there, especially in the dark. But if Jihoon strains his ears, he can just about hear someone talking.</p><p>A low murmur of sound that doesn't quite make words.</p><p>Frowning, Jihoon kicks his way free of the sheets. He might as well go and see what’s rustling around upstairs than lay there and go mad inside his own thoughts. His own thoughts aren't exactly a comfortable place at any time, let alone at night when the world is so quiet.</p><p>The second his feet touch the cold floor, there's another low sound, a shuffling thud of something falling against wood. When he eases himself off the bed the sound comes again, but…closer somehow.</p><p>Moving over to the window, he shifts the curtain aside and stares out into the darkness. He's looking for movement more than anything else, perhaps a light to indicate that there is indeed someone moving around in the floor above. But he can't see anything. Just the cold, weak darkness and the low curves and juts of the trees in the garden.  </p><p>He waits there for a moment in complete silence, then turns sharply away when the sound comes again, just outside his door.  </p><p>It’s unmistakable now—a heavy stride muffled by thick floorboards.</p><p>Jihoon curls his fingers into his night shirt when the door knob twists—though, not with purpose it seems. Merely in a way that suggests something has brushed up against it. Something large and clumsy and lumbering, moving about outside.</p><p>He has a half a mind to stride over and pull the door open, scold whoever it is so intent on waking the entire house. Something, instinct he supposes, compels him to stay rooted in place, not making a sound.</p><p>Eventually, the heavy footsteps drift away and Jihoon feels some of the tension ooze out of him, but it’s a long, long time before sleep finds him.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>“So it was <em>you</em>?” Jihoon exclaims. “You are the one who wrote to me?”</p><p>He’s standing at the window of the library, staring out the window. The rain-streaked glass panes give the impression that they are under the sea. Mr Kim’s confession has startled him into facing the tall, gaunt looking man and giving him hard look for the first time.</p><p>His anger is quick to fade however.</p><p>Mr Kim is the picture of anxiety. His face is drawn and pale. Dark circles under his eyes indicate days without proper sleep, and he’s wringing his hands together in a very uneasy fashion. Jihoon has rarely seen a man so wracked with guilt.</p><p>“I don’t understand Mr Kim. Why would you bring me here under false pretences?”</p><p>Mr Kim gives a very slight bow. "Master Lee," he says, with exactly the right tone of firm commiseration. “I can only apologise for withholding certain facts in my letter, but I promise you I had the best of intentions. I have long feared for your Uncle’s health since his return, and as he has been unable, or rather, <em>unwilling</em> to reach out to anyone, I took it upon myself to write to you. I had hoped your presence as his most favoured nephew would bring him some comfort in his last days.”</p><p>“Last days? Certainly his condition cannot be that grave?” Jihoon gasps, searching Mr Kim’s weathered face for even the smallest reassurance.</p><p>Mr Kim regards him thoughtfully for a moment before his lips pinch together thin and tight. “I fear that it is. He refuses many of his meals, refuses to leave the house, refuses to be dressed or bathed. He will not allow me to call for a doctor, nor will he allow me to tend to his wounds myself either.”</p><p>Jihoon sucks in his breath sharply. “He has injuries? What from?”</p><p>Mr Kim's shrug is anything but careless, his shoulders are weighted by concern for his master. “I do not know. And I am not entirely certain where, but I can smell them festering, and his sheets are often bloodied when the maids are permitted to change them.”</p><p>Jihoon feels suddenly queasy.</p><p>The few bites of bacon and egg he’d eaten for breakfast sit heavily in his stomach; he still isn’t used to such hearty fair, especially first thing in the morning.</p><p>“Perhaps I should see Uncle now,” He murmurs, “I may be able to convince him to see a doctor.”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>The first thing that hits Jihoon when he enters Uncle Weerus’ chambers is the smell. The stench is incomparable, the stomach-turning sweetness of rotting fish and spreading mold. The second is the heat, so dry and stifling that it leaves him parched before he even reaches the curtained bed where Uncle Weerus lies.</p><p>Jihoon’s last memory of his uncle was of a Christmas many years ago, when he had been a balding, stout man with a fabulous wit and jovial energy. What he lacked in hair he made up for with a huge moustache, so ridiculously large and curled that it often shared his soup.</p><p>That is not the man Jihoon sees in front of him today, and he can hardly reconcile the difference.</p><p>Even though the sheets are pulled up to his shoulder, Jihoon can see there isn’t an ounce of fat on Uncle Weerus’ frame now. He’s shockingly haggard everywhere, especially in his face where his once round cheeks seem to cave in. His nails are overly long and yellowing, his skin is so pale it’s almost translucent in places, and what remaining hair he had has grown white and long, falling over his shoulders like wiry rats tails.</p><p>It’s…it’s like looking at a corpse, frozen in a state of semi-decay.</p><p>Jihoon resists the urge to wrinkle his nose as he edges closer to the bed and puts on his most charming smile. “H-hello Uncle Weerus, it’s so good to see you again. How do you feel?”</p><p>Uncle Weerus watches him and makes no sound. His chilly gaze makes Jihoon's skin prickle.</p><p>“Who are you?” He finally speaks, his voice is a dry, painful rasp—something devoid of all moisture. Possibly not aided by the fact that the windows have been sealed shut and that he has ordered fires to be lit and kept going around the <em>clock</em>. </p><p>“It is I, Uncle, Lee Jihoon—your <em>nephew</em>.” Jihoon says, maintaining what he hopes is a harmless expression as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Don’t…don’t you remember me? I used to visit you often in the summers with my family, we wrote to each other quite often.”</p><p>Uncle Weerus gives him an assessing look before rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “We share the same blood?”</p><p>“Yes. My mother would be your first cousin, twice removed. I suppose I should be calling you Grand Uncle, but you always insisted I call you Uncle Weerus. Or, uncle We-We when I was younger.”</p><p>Uncle Weerus’ eyes scan his face more deliberately now, before smiling with yellowed teeth and an unholy glint of glee.</p><p>“Did I? How quaint.”</p><p>Jihoon attempts to offer a warmer smile in return, but the smell in the room isn’t helping, nor is the sudden deepening chill that strikes his bones when Uncle Weerus reaches out to pinch his cheek with his crooked fingers.</p><p>“You are young and healthy. You will make a good host when the time comes.”</p><p>Jihoon’s not entirely sure what Uncle Weerus means by that, but he thinks he should probably try and take it as a compliment.</p><p>“Oh, uhm thank you.” He smiles, shifting awkwardly. “Now Uncle, Mr Kim worries about you. You remember Mr Kim, don’t you? The steward. He’s the one who invited me here, because he’s very concerned about your health. He says you haven’t been yourself as of late, and I think I may agree with him. You…you seem a little under the weather presently—won’t you allow us to call for a doctor?”</p><p>Uncle Weerus’ eyes widen fractionally.</p><p>“A doctor? No, never,” The words are snapped out, in that dry-branch voice. Spit's gathering at the corner of his mouth, the foam of dehydration. “There is no cause for concern. I am very well my child. Very well indeed.”</p><p>“But you do not <em>appear</em> well Uncle. In fact, you appear to be quite <em>dead</em>.” Jihoon hears himself say a moment to late to censor himself.</p><p>It’s probably not wise to address a sick man which such unflattering honesty, but Jihoon is rather struggling to summon any tact. Uncle Weerus genuinely looks like he's being eaten alive, from the <em>inside</em>.</p><p>The man doesn’t seem offended by his observations though. If anything he seems <em>amused</em>, and his ensuing laughter is terrible, a sound like stepping on a hornets’ nest, as dry as empty wells.</p><p>“This body is certainly older than I prefer it to be, but it is good sometimes, to be underestimated. You needn’t concern yourself for long; this is merely the <em>larval</em> stage of my progression you see. Like the caterpillar, I am biding my time and feeding, preparing myself for my grand metamorphosis into a—”</p><p>“Butterfly?” Jihoon interjects hopefully.</p><p>Uncle Weerus’ blue-veined eyelids flit half closed, “I grow tired now. Leave me to rest child.”</p><p>With a resigned sigh, Jihoon nods and gets to his feet. By now, he’s well used to people feigning sleep whenever he starts talking about butterflies.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>That afternoon finds Jihoon strolling through the small hedge-maze behind the house, lost in his thoughts.</p><p>He’d been unsuccessful in attempting to convince his Uncle to see a doctor, and even less successfully in persuading Mr Kim to call for one anyway; the Steward is deathly loyal, and refuses to go against his Uncle’s wishes, even when the man is clearly delusional and not in a position to make such decisions.</p><p>It leaves Jihoon at a loss on how to proceed.</p><p>He considers writing home to inform his parents, but the sure knowledge of them summoning him home stops him. If Mr Kim thinks he can be of some help, maybe he <em>could</em> remain here—offer some familial comfort to his sickly Uncle in his last days.</p><p>Most likely, it is a fool's errand. Except for a few letters each year, Uncle Weerus never had any time for him. There's no reason to suppose he’ll feel any differently now that he’s <em>dying</em>. But he had been the one to encourage Jihoon’s interests when no one else would, and though it’s amounted to nothing, Jihoon feels duty-bound to offer his help. If he can.</p><p>He sits for a while near a small pond, contemplating his choices, then growing tired of the garden, heads through the dark tunnel of trees into the woods and further afield. The wind that meets his face as he leaves the shelter of the trees is cool and crisp, and the breeze only picks up the farther he ventures. He has to keep brushing loose strands of hair from his face, but other than that, he much prefers it to the bleak, desolate feel of the Manor.</p><p>It’s bright and peaceful out here, with nothing to hear but the occasional harsh, questioning cry of a far-off bird.</p><p>Eventually he comes to the secluded part of the grounds where the Folly stands, leaning against a low wall to wipe some mud off his shoe before stepping inside.</p><p>The Folly roof has caved in some time ago, long enough that lichen now grows along the northern edges of the broken stone, but the <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/473c7a7ed16b5ff44e11546102b651c7/fe4996b9efc7ca1e-57/s250x400/de6db3dec464fb0b0755385799a68b8dc15b6b4b.jpg">unexpected</a> beauty of what results is more than worth it. Sunlight beams down from the hole in the roof, filtering between the cracks in the stone where small weeds and flowers flourish. And in the centre of the Folly, where a crackled marble statue lies in pieces, Swallowtail butterflies dance, flitting around in waltzes through the air.</p><p>Jihoon walks in small circles around them, trying not to disturb their movements as he begins to identify each one of them by species. Unfortunately, the state of the Folly leaves him nowhere to sit and enjoy the view, but he thinks there’s just enough room for him to fetch the folding chair from the study. And an easel of course, so he may capture the beauty of his butterfly friends better.  </p><p>He has just begun to venture back towards Manor to fetch his supplies, when a noise catches his attention: the braying of a horse nearby, followed by a booming voice.</p><p>“What business do you have with Lord Weerus?”</p><p>Stopping in his tracks, Jihoon turns to find a man on horseback idling a short distance behind him. A man with dark eyes and a chiselled jaw, and a too stern expression carved on his face. He's possibly a handful, or two years older than Jihoon, though he is dressed much too practically, with a dark navy overcoat and black britches, and a simple two button waistcoat. His cravat is neatly tied, if a trifle business-like. Not a man of fashion then, but a gentleman, nonetheless.</p><p>Oh, and a <em>handsome</em> one at that, with an unkept mess of black hair and a roguish sort of charm Jihoon would be tempted to swoon over, if…well, he was uhm..</p><p>Anyway! Jihoon would dearly like to make his acquaintance. Except for the fact that the roguish stranger just <em>rolled</em> his eyes at Jihoon’s shameless staring.</p><p>“I understand that Lord Weerus is too unwell to attend to his visitors currently, so whatever debts he owes you, I will honour them. Surrender your vowels to me and I will ensure your money is returned. <em>With</em> <em>interest</em>.”</p><p>“You are mistaken kind Sir.” Jihoon says, righting his footing as an enthusiastic gust of wind threatens to sweep it off his feet, “I am no creditor, and I have no debt to reclaim with Lord Weerus. I am his nephew, here at his request.”</p><p>“Nephew?” The man looks back over his shoulder at the house, obviously confused. “How can that be, I have studied the Weerus family tree, and it was not so extensive. He has no siblings to speak of.”</p><p>“Well, technically he’s my mother’s first cousin, twice removed.” Jihoon corrects himself quietly, “But we’ve been in correspondence since my childhood, and I was invited to the Manor so that I may accompany him on his travels. I’m Lee Jihoon. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”</p><p>The man cocks his head; he looks less hostile and more interested now. “Really? Lord Weerus plans to <em>travel</em>?”  </p><p>Jihoon winces a bit, realizing that is no longer entirely true. “Well, uhm no. My Uncle is currently too unwell to journey anywhere, a fact that was only shared with me after I arrived. If his current state persists, I doubt he will ever be able to travel again.”</p><p>“I see,” The man says. Then, with a swift sharpening of his attention, “When do you intend to leave?”</p><p>Jihoon blinks at him owlishly.</p><p>He is still trying to wrap his head around that question, when the man steers his horse ahead of him, blocking his path to the Manor.  </p><p>“You just said yourself, your Uncle is of ill health and incapable of travelling, and I very much doubt you will be required to accompany him anytime soon. So I will ask you again, when will you be leaving?”</p><p>“I have no intention of leaving just yet Sir,” Jihoon protests slightly, “My Uncle is unwell, and I intend to stay at his side for as long as he needs me.”</p><p>The man stares at him a long moment before tightening his mouth in a thin line. “You should not venture out here alone. It is not safe.</p><p>Jihoon can’t fathom what could possibly be so unsafe about taking a stroll through an open field in broad daylight, but before he can voice this, the man steers his horse around and gallops away.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon’s still puzzling his latest encounter through when he returns to the Manor and comes along Mr Kim working diligently the study.</p><p>The man is surrounded by stacks of letters, accounting books, and loose papers piled high on his desk. The two empty ink pots resting by his elbow suggest he has been here for some time, though the swathes of unopened correspondence behind him indicate he is nowhere near finished.</p><p>Jihoon feels guilty interrupting him, but his curiosity cannot be stifled.</p><p>“Ah, Mr Kim—might I have a word?”</p><p>Mr Kim jolts upright, but meets Jihoon’s eyes warmly and quickly sets aside his work. “Of course, Master Lee, how may I be of help?”</p><p>“I’m sure it’s no cause for concern, but I just met the oddest man as I took a stroll through the grounds. he did not even attempt to introduce himself, he merely made several discourteous assumptions regarding Uncle Weerus and enquired as to when I would be <em>leaving</em>. In fact, he seemed to imply that I <em>should</em>. Do you have any thoughts on who this man may have been?”</p><p>Mr Kim shakes his head in the negative. “I can’t say I do, Master Lee. Could you perhaps describe his appearance?”</p><p>“Unremarkable—” Jihoon lies, because <em>tall, dark and ridiculously handsome</em> would probably have earned him an odd look. “—But the strangest thing was, he presumed I was businessman of sorts, here to reclaim a debt owed and offered to cover the sum on Uncle Weerus’ behalf.”</p><p>“Ah.” Mr Kim’s features lighten as comprehension dawns, “I believe you have just met Mr Choi Seungcheol, your Uncle’s creditor.”</p><p>“Creditor!” Jihoon says, with poorly concealed alarm. “You mean to tell me Uncle owes this man a debt?”</p><p>“Yes, and a considerable one at that.” Mr Kim’s mouth twists to one side as he frowns. “Forgive me Master Lee, I do not know if it’s my place to say anything more if your Uncle has not yet taken steps to inform you of the situation.”</p><p>Huffing impatiently, Jihoon crosses the room to close the door.</p><p>“Now come Mr Kim. You know as well as I do that Uncle Weerus is hardly in a position to inform anyone of anything. He hardly recognised me earlier, and if I am to act in his best interest, I should know everything there is to. So please, tell me—what is going on?”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>By the time the supper bell rings, Jihoon is in a foul mood and has completely lost his appetite.</p><p>He’s been closeted with Mr Kim in the study for the past three hours, scanning through piles and piles of unread correspondence and swathes of IOU’s, and has quickly determined that Uncle Weerus’ finances are every bit as bad as the shabbiness of the Manor led him to fear.</p><p>Worse, in fact.</p><p>Not only is Uncle Weerus indebted to practically every tradesman in town, including the butcher and the baker and even the candlestick maker, he also appears to have squandered away a vast proportion of the Weerus family fortune previously tied up in land rights.</p><p>A perusal of the estate books laid bare the whole sordid mess, and Jihoon had been stunned to discover much of the family property Uncle Weerus depended upon for rental income no longer belonged to the Weerus estate. The magnificent hunting lodge near the lakes is gone. So, too, is the Dowager’s house on the periphery of the estate as well as the family mansion in the City, and several of the farms that had been in the Weerus family for generations has been auctioned off at a mere fraction of their worth. And all to honour a number of large, unexplained <em>debts</em>.</p><p>Sighing, Jihoon marks his page in the estate book with a frayed and faded length of ribbon, then closes the journal where he's been jotting notes.</p><p>“I still don’t understand Mr Kim. Where did all the money go? I never though Uncle Weerus was a gambling man, but that seems to be the only logical explanation for such a huge loss. Did he—did he gamble it away?”</p><p>“No, Master Lee—” Mr Kim says, in that cautiously polite manner of his. “As you well know, your Uncle was always very passionate about his travels, and I’m afraid to says that thirst for adventure only seemed to grow <em>wilder</em> with age. Now, usually he would fund his expeditions well in advance, securing space on the ship for fare paying passengers, or cargo that could be traded to fund the journey. But unfortunately, the last few trips he made have been to some <em>unusual</em> locations, and the cargo that returned with him was deemed unfit for trade, and <em>that</em> is what left him in considerable debt. He would have eventually recovered the loss had he halted his expeditions for a time, but he was so desperate to continue his travels, he began to sell off the estate’s properties to pay for them.”</p><p>Jihoon could scarcely believe what he was hearing.</p><p>He’s always respected his Uncle’s legacy as a famed explorer, shared his enthusiasm for adventure and discovery, and admired his passion for the pursuit of knowledge. But he can’t even begin to understand how Uncle Weerus could conduct his business affairs so <em>recklessly</em>. To lose almost everything he owns? To gamble away the family fortune, selling and mortgaging everything he can lay his hands on, simply to fund his travels? </p><p>It’s…it’s madness.</p><p>Utter madness.</p><p>“But why? What could have possibly possessed him to pursue a hobby with such a fervour, and with such a disregard for the consequences?”</p><p>Mr Kim merely shakes his head sadly. “He would not tell me the exact reasons. I only knew he was in search of something in particular. An <em>artifact</em>. When he last spoke openly with me, the day before he set out on his last trip, he claimed his entire <em>legacy</em> rested on finding this artifact, and he could not rest until he did so.”</p><p>Jihoon ponders this a moment.</p><p>“Did he find it?”</p><p>Mr Kim gives an eloquent shrug. “That, I’m afraid, I do not know. His Lordship has not shared anything with me since his return, though I suspect his rapidly declining health and refusal to venture out of the house suggests that he did not, and that he is rather despondent about the state of his affairs.”</p><p>“Poor Uncle We-We.” Jihoon sighs, resting his chin in his hands, tapping his nose with his index finger.</p><p>It’s a terrible state of affairs to be sure, but a tiny spark of hope rekindles in Jihoon’s chest at the thought that perhaps he can turn things around for his dear Uncle.</p><p>Growing up as the fourth son of an Earl has given Jihoon a practical approach to financial strain; the meagre allowance he is permitted has taught him how to budget, to organize his finances, how to plan for contingencies and how to cut costs without falling out of societies good graces.  </p><p>With that thought in mind, Jihoon straightens in his seat and reaches for his quill with renewed purpose.  </p><p>“We cannot allow ourselves to despair any longer Mr Kim,” He announces, fetching some blank sheets and uncapping his bottle of ink, “Uncle Weerus still has a reputation to uphold, and I will not see him living out the last of his days as a penniless vagrant. We will have to manage his outstanding debts, and quickly. I will write to the estate manager and arrange to speak with him at his earliest convenience so I can determine what is left to mortgage. If there is nothing, then we still have the surrounding lands and the contents of this house to barter with. Uncle Weerus has collected a vast number of artifacts on his travels, and I bet many can be loaned out to museums or auctioned off for a pretty sum if the negotiation is handled well. We can begin small, and pay off the outstanding bills to the smaller tradesmen as soon as funds can be liquidated to do so.”</p><p>There’s a resigned sigh from across the room, followed shortly by careful footsteps, and when a hand comes out to pause Jihoon in his frantic penning, he glances up to find Mr Kim smiling at him sadly.</p><p>“While that is a fine idea Master Lee, and one that would have worked under different circumstances, I fear we have only reached the <em>cusp</em> of the issue.”</p><p>Confused, Jihoon blinks. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Mr Kim sighs again, letting his eyes close briefly.  “When I attempted to compile a list of all the notes your Uncle left outstanding, I was disturbed to find that many of the gentlemen to whom your Uncle owes money now state that their debts have been paid in <em>full</em>. This is where the stranger you met today comes into play.”</p><p>“He’s been consolidating my Uncle’s notes.” Jihoon says quietly, taking in this information and the implications with relative calm, even as the news feels like a punch to the gut.</p><p>Mr Kim confirms his fears with a curt nod, “Yes. It would appear so. Mr Choi has gone to great lengths to purchase all the debts against your Uncle for himself. And should he decide to redeem the notes all at once, well, your Uncle will be forced to surrender this house and the surrounding lands to meet that claim at once.”</p><p>Jihoon balls his hands into fists and slams them on the table, relishing the pain, the sudden shock in Mr Kim’s face as his head jerks up in surprise.</p><p>“The scoundrel, the—the <em>swindler</em>. How dare he! He cannot be allowed to con poor Uncle We-We.”</p><p>Mr Kim ducks his head, smiling crookedly. “While I share your sentiments on his character, I am afraid to say this is a very legitimate practice. Mr Choi has not committed any crime, he has merely ensured that your Uncle is indebted to him and <em>only</em> him.”</p><p>A sudden pang of frustrations hits Jihoon.</p><p>It’s a dramatic annoyance, but, well, Mr Kim is <em>right.</em> The man has technically committed no crime by buying up his Uncle’s vowels. Still, the underhanded manner in which he has chosen to conduct business needles Jihoon. No wonder the man was so eager to accost Jihoon earlier; he clearly thought Jihoon was another creditor coming to reclaim a debt, and he wanted to ensure no other man would have claim on Uncle Weerus’ property. And that—that is very deviant behaviour indeed.</p><p>“Have we any information on this man?” Jihoon parries, sniffing his disapproval as he speaks. “Or even an estate to address correspondence?”</p><p>Grim faced, Mr Kim shakes his head, “Unfortunately, I have not been able to learn much about him besides his name and the fact that he is incredibly wealthy."</p><p>Jihoon feels his anger growing and is about to speak up before Mr Kim continues more softly, “But if you wish to write to him, I can deliver the letter myself. He is currently residing in the Dowager’s House.”</p><p>“The Dowager’s House! But that is a mere stone’s throw away from here; he’s practically our neighbour!” Jihoon bursts, louder than he should. He slouches his shoulders, forces himself beneath some faint measure of control. “Apologies Mr Kim, I should not have raised my voice. I just can’t help but feel this is all too convenient. No doubt this <em>Choi</em> man resides on the estate deliberately, to watch Uncle Weerus’ decline from the perfect vantage point.”</p><p>“Yes,” Mr Kim’s lips curl. “It appears he purchased the property not long after your Uncle returned from his last trip, and spent the last few months ingratiating himself with men of the highest standing in the community. He is in particular favour with Lord Yoon, the justice of the peace himself just now.”</p><p>Which means that no one would likely challenge this Man should he lay claim to the rest of the Weerus properties in payment for the debts. Even if it means evicting a frail, elderly man in the process.</p><p>Well, Jihoon isn’t about to let that happen. He just doesn’t know how to put a stop it.</p><p>“I will have to meet with him I suppose, and propose a negotiation of sorts. Arrange repayment that allows Uncle Weerus to keep his home.”</p><p>Mr Kim looks up, his expression slightly wary. “Are you certain that is wise, Master Lee? Mr Choi clearly has intentions for the property—any suggestion otherwise may encourage him to play his hand before we are ready for it.”</p><p>Jihoon nods, acknowledging the possibility. “You are probably right Mr Kim, but I used to be in charge of balancing the books for my elder brother’s estate, I am more than capable of handling this situation delicately. I will draw up a sound plan for repayment and speak to this…<em>menace</em>. If he is any sort of gentleman, then he should see good sense in what it is presented before him.”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon had no desire whatsoever to cross paths with this <em>Choi</em> character again, and would have much preferred to send the family solicitor to deal with the menace. But the Weerus estate is so perilously close to the rocks now, and since his crazy plan, still only <em>half</em>-formulated, is the only way he could see to protect it, he has no choice but to pay him a visit at Dowager House in person.</p><p>He makes the journey on foot, because it seems pointless to send word to the stables when the Mr Choi lives a scant few minutes away, but also because the stable hand disappeared during the night, so there isn’t anyone available to ready a horse even if he wanted.</p><p>The brisk walk and fresh air will do him some good, he reasons as he sets out, and the few moments of solitude it affords allows him to prepare what he will say. Though his opening gambit floats right out of his head the second he passes the copse of trees that border the property and sights the house.</p><p>Like many other portions of the Weerus Estate, the Dowager house has a look of disrepair; its once fine limestone façade is now cracked and covered in strangling weeds and ivy, and many of the winter shutters are drawn, as if no one is in residence. There are no servants milling about the garden either, and no footmen comes rushing out to greet Jihoon as he ambles up the path, which does <em>not</em> match his expectations.</p><p>For a man with the financial backing to buy up so many of his Uncle’s vowels, Jihoon had expected Mr Choi to have a small army of servants waiting on him, ensuring every pampered facet of his daily existence is well kept. He at least expected a Butler in residence, to answer the door and manage the comfort of Mr Choi’s guests, so he’s understandably startled to see Mr Choi himself answering his knock.</p><p>Then a great deal <em>more</em> startled when he inspects the man’s attire because Mr Choi is clearly in no state to be presenting himself to <em>anyone</em>. He’s wearing neither coat nor cravat, and his shirt is horribly creased with the cuffs unbuttoned.</p><p>He looks like he just rolled out of <em>bed</em>.</p><p>For his part, Mr Choi does not seem surprised to find Jihoon on his doorstep. He only looks Jihoon up and down, gaze travelling slowly over every inch of his body. It’s a crude and insolent stare, full of frank certainty, and Jihoon face flushes hotly even as his whole body stiffens.</p><p>“Good day Mr Choi,” Jihoon says quietly, eyes roaming the man’s handsome face, stubbled jaw. Mr Choi looks nothing short of spectacular from up close, his lips tall and well-shaped, yet somehow flat. “I apologise for calling on you without notice, but I have an urgent matter to discuss with you, if you would be so kind to permit me a moment of your time.”</p><p>Mr Choi circles a hand in Jihoon’s general direction. “Ah, yes, the <em>nephew</em>. Suppose you better come in.”</p><p>In all the mental scenarios Jihoon ran through as he trudged up the path, he never actually anticipated being <em>invited</em> inside.</p><p>Being completely ignored, sure. Getting the door slammed in his face so hard he’d be walking around with the impression of the door knocker on his forehead for weeks, certainly. Mr Choi doing anything remotely hospitable isn’t something he thought the man capable of. But oddly enough, the man steps aside to allow him entry, and leads the way to the small but functional seating room at the end of the corridor.</p><p>The inside of the house has <em>also</em> undergone quite the transformation since Jihoon last frequented it: all that remains of the cornflower blue wallpaper is a single strip that hangs limply off the wall, and the ornate Louis XIV furniture he was not allowed to sit on as a child has been replaced by sturdier, more practical choices.</p><p>It’s not exactly the potent display of wealth Jihoon was anticipating, but it’s the complete absence of decoration that’s most notable, and so far removed from the eclectic style the Dowager once favoured he can’t help but stop and stare.</p><p>Without a portrait or glass china cabinet in sight, everything is so strikingly devoid of personality, of <em>warmth</em>. As if Mr Choi has no interest in maintaining the comfort of his surroundings.</p><p>Or, perhaps….he doesn’t intend to <em>stay</em> long?</p><p>The state of the room Mr Choi leads him to suggests as much; Jihoon glances about in some confusion at the piles of papers and half-opened crates, many of which contain odd pieces of equipment. There is a large trunk as well, along with several personal items and weapons, giving entire set-up the feel of a military campsite.</p><p>Jihoon looks around, notetaking internally, before he opens his mouth. “Are you in the military Mr Choi?”</p><p>Mr Choi looks over his shoulder, not bothering to turn and face him.</p><p>“No."</p><p>After a moment Jihoon realizes that Seungcheol does not intend to say anything else. Which is a good indicator as any that the man has no interest in disclosing personal matters, such as his occupation or how he came about such incredible wealth.</p><p>It strikes Jihoon as highly suspicious behaviour, though he accepts he really has no business prying anyway.</p><p>Jihoon pauses near the doorway, an obligatory show of respect, waiting to be asked in, only for Seungcheol to nods him toward a seat with a curt, “Sit down.”</p><p>Jihoon bristles a bit at that. Mr Choi may claim not be a military man, but he certainly enjoys <em>behaving</em> like one—ordering Jihoon about and striding around like he’s perpetually riding a horse. A please would have been preferable, and an offer of refreshments is customary, but just as Jihoon’s about to point that out, a cigar case is waved under his nose.   </p><p>“Cigar?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, no thank you.” Jihoon demurs politely.</p><p>Seungcheol nods, then selects one of his own as he steps towards the mantle. He lights it with a taper from the fire, rotating the thick cigar in his mouth as he holds the flame steady, taking small puffs to get it going. </p><p>Jihoon can’t help but stare, even though he never understood the appeal of smoking. It always struck him as a vile and unnecessary habit, and one he often lectured his father on. The effect is rather different when <em>Seungcheol</em> is the one puffing away.</p><p>The way he wraps eager, bow-shaped lips around the tip could almost qualify as a form of seduct—</p><p>“Smoking is quite bad for you, you know.” Jihoon blurts out suddenly, trying to distract his heathen brain from the man in front of him, the rich odour of fine tobacco slowly filling the room. “I have read numerous scientific articles that say as much.”</p><p>Sitting back in his chair, Seungcheol considers Jihoon thoughtfully, one shining boot on the floor and the other crossed over his knee. Being seated should have robbed him of some of the advantages of his intimidating stature, but instead Jihoon is only very aware of his ridiculously broad shoulders and the way the firelight is reflected in his half-lidded eyes.</p><p>“How kind of you to look out for my health.” Mr Choi breathes out, puffs of smoke leaving his lips in rough circles. “Though I’m certain you have not come to discuss my vices. Unless you have—then I’m afraid I can’t spare the time right now to discuss them—as I have assembled quite a few. Not that it’s any of your business, of course.”</p><p>Jihoon feels the heat rush up across his features, and lowers his face to hide it. “I did not mean to sound disapproving of your choices, Mr Choi, I merely felt the need to share my knowledge. But you are right, it is not any of my business, and not the reason I have come to speak to you today. I have come because I have duly been informed that you are in possession of my Uncle’s notes, and I have a proposition to make.”</p><p>Something flares in Seungcheol's cool expression for a moment, like a shark flashing a fin in still waters. “Well then, let’s hear it.”</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Jihoon chooses his words with care.</p><p>“As you may already know, my Uncle has a very favourable reputation in this part of the country, not only as a gentleman but as a famed explorer, held in high regard by many of his peers. Admittedly his latest ventures have not proven to be financially successful, but this does not eliminate the decades of bountiful discoveries and success than have earned him his reputation as well as his wealth. And it is that reputation that I intend to utilise in my proposal today, for you see, I have been the sole confidant of my Uncle’s most intimate discoveries for a number of years, and have amassed quite the collection of anecdotes and letters detailing his many adventures. So many in fact, I could fill a book. Or two. And with my Uncle’s permission I plan on doing just that. When he gives his consent, which I am certain he will, I intend to approach a reputable publishing house and submit my writings as an official documentation of his memoirs. The profits of which, will be used to repay his creditors.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s mouth rounds in protest, but Jihoon stops him with a politely raised hand, asking for patience.</p><p>“Now, I appreciate that this may seem like a long-winded approach to his current financial strain, but it is also the most favourable outcome for both parties, and with the most fruitful result long term. Especially when you consider how fantastically the book will sell—which I have been led to believe is very well indeed. In fact, my Uncle’s memoirs are so sought after and so highly anticipated, I expect his debt to you will be repaid in a matter of months. And if you would be so kind as to accept a 45% cut of the profit margins, I am certain my Uncle will agree to penning a kind dedication in your honour for assisting him in his time of need.”</p><p>The clock on the writing desk ticks loudly in the silence that follows. Jihoon holds his breath while he waits for Seungcheol’s response, his heart thudding in his chest so strongly he can hear feel his pulse thrumming in his ears.</p><p>For his part, Seungcheol simply puffs on his cigar, feet crossed at the ankles in the manner of a man without a care in the world.</p><p>It feels like ten thousand years have passed before he tilts his head thoughtfully and says, “No.”</p><p>By which point, Jihoon’s almost forgotten what they were even <em>talking</em> about. It takes him a moment to jog his memory, and a further moment to work up the courage to ask, “Is that a <em>no</em> to the dedication or <em>no</em> to the 45% cut?”</p><p>Seungcheol takes a long drag, blowing it out theatrically and rotating the cigar in his hand much like a maiden might admire a ring.</p><p>“No to the whole damn thing.”</p><p>Jihoon purses his lips in disappointment, but answers with exaggerated politeness. “May I as why? If there is a particular part of my plan that does not meet your objectives, perhaps I will be able to revise certain aspects to meet your standards.”</p><p>Seungcheol holds up a hand to silence him, shaking his head as he does so. “Look, I have no quarrel with you Mr Lee, you seem considerate enough to go to such lengths to secure your Uncle’s debts, but you also strike me as a little….what’s the word I’m looking for.” He snaps his fingers repeatedly, as if searching his memory for the word.</p><p>“Naïve?” Jihoon supplies helpfully, though he does not believe himself to be so.</p><p>“Stupid.” Seungcheol rudely corrects. The flicker of amusement in his eyes is downright nasty as he grins, “Yes, that’s it. You’re a little <em>stupid</em>. You clearly have an inflated opinion of your Uncle’s achievements, and frankly, a flagrantly gullible understanding of the world of business. So no—I will not be accepting your offer, and none of the terms you suggested can be altered to satisfy my expectations. In fact, just to make myself perfectly clear—I will only find satisfaction when your Uncle is 6 feet below ground—preferably with a stake in his heart.”</p><p>Jihoon feels his face close down. The tentative hope that had been growing slowly inside him for the past few days withers and dies, leaving behind a frozen wasteland more bleak and awful than anything that has come before.</p><p>When he feels the hot sting of tears behind his eyes, he quickly stands, offering a curt nod in Seungcheol’s direction and a murmured, “Thank you for your time.”</p><p>He can barely look the man in the eye as he takes his leave, but he gets no further than the corridor before there’s a sound of a chair overturning, and a very morose looking Mr Choi is blocking his path.  </p><p>“Mr Lee, ah—please, forgive me. My words were brash and incredibly hurtful, and I—” He draws his shoulders up, steadying himself.  “I’m sorry, I do not conduct business often, and when I do, the dealings I have are with men of a rougher nature who welcome such harsh words. I am still not accustomed to dealing with men of <em>gentry</em>.”</p><p>Jihoon turns away from him, feeling raw and spiky both at once. “You should not speak to <em>anyone</em> in such a way. Gentry or not. It is inexcusable.”</p><p>A low, frustrated sound and Seungcheol is moving around to face him again.</p><p>“I know that, and I am truly sorry. Please just…please stop crying.”</p><p>Mortification ripples tepid through Jihoon’s stomach. “I..I don’t know what you mean. I’m not <em>crying</em>.” He says, though his breath hitches tragically precisely three times as he says it.</p><p>Seungcheol has the gall to squint at him dubiously at this—possibly because there are tears all over Jihoon’s face, and possibly because he’s hiccupping a little now too—which yes, could be mistaken for crying on anyone else. But blast it, Jihoon does not cry.</p><p>“Right. Of course. Nevertheless, I remain sincerely apologetic for how I conducted myself earlier.” Seungcheol says, passing him a square of cotton from his pocket.</p><p>Hesitantly, Jihoon accepts the handkerchief, dabbing lightly under his eyes. He considers blowing his nose in it too—out of spite—but Mr Choi does appear to be genuinely remorseful, even so far as to wring his hands together uncomfortably as he asks, “May I ask how old you are Mr Lee?”</p><p>Jihoon doesn’t why his age has any bearing on the situation, but answers honestly.</p><p>“I will turn nineteen in November.”</p><p>Seungcheol visibly cringes, like the answer physically pains him. “You’re… much younger than I estimated you to be. I thought you were at least in your late twenties.” Jihoon’s scowl prompts him to hastily add. “I mean no offence by that. I merely felt you conducted yourself in a very <em>mature</em> manner that belies your youth.”</p><p>It takes massive effort to regain his poise, but Jihoon manages, keeping his head up and his chin high. “I have not had the luxury of youth Mr Choi, being the fourth son of an Earl with limited enterprises does not permit it. Now, will you reconsider my offer?”</p><p>Seungcheol takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling theatrically. “I can’t do that Mr Lee. Though I do regret how I spoke to you earlier, my reasons for consolidating your Uncle’s debts have not changed. I’ll do everything in my power to do what I must, so I suggest you pack your bags and leave the fate of the old man’s finances to me.”</p><p>It’s all said without rancour or bitterness, so matter-of-factly Jihoon can’t fathom what motives the man has to drive his poor Uncle out of his home.</p><p>“You must realise you are being unreasonable Mr Choi. My Uncle is a frail, elderly man—”</p><p>Seungcheol snorts. “Once upon a time, perhaps. Now however, I suspect he’s very adept at disguising himself as whatever will garner the most sympathy. A sympathy I am smart enough not to bestow.”</p><p>Pursing his lips, Jihoon holds the handkerchief out for Seungcheol to take, his knuckles turning white with the effort to maintain his composure.</p><p>“Well Mr Choi, you have made your intentions perfectly clear and I see no use with trying to reason with you. I rescind my previous offer as I only make agreements with gentleman, and you are most definitely <em>not</em> one.”</p><p>Seungcheol laughs, entirely unoffended. “I never implied that I <em>was</em>. In fact, I’m possibly the least gentlemanly man you’ll ever meet.”</p><p>“Well, in that case, I will feel no guilt for doing this—" Jihoon says and hits him hard across the face before he can even think about rechannelling the desire to do so.  </p><p>It’s a good slap. A solid slap. No firmer slap could be found for anyone who dare sought it.</p><p>Except it seems to have little effect on Seungcheol, who’s slack jaw abruptly lifts into a pleased smile.</p><p>“I must have left a window open upstairs, I could have sworn I just felt a fine <em>breeze</em> drift across my face.”</p><p>Scoffing in outrage, Jihoon slaps him again for good measure. It is perhaps not as <em>firm</em> as the first, but still reasonably grounding. And once again, Seungcheol remains unaffected. He recovers the one-step distance he was forced back, and ends up even <em>closer</em>.</p><p>“Try again. I hardly felt a thing.”</p><p>Though his hand is beginning to throb, Jihoon does attempt a third slap, only for Seungcheol to capture his hand effortlessly.</p><p>“Oh, you are a feisty little thing, aren’t you. But you must be ready to defend yourself better than that Mr Lee. You have very small, very delicate hands you see, and even more delicate wrists. It may serve you better to use a weapon instead of your own brute force. Perhaps a blade, or a well-placed dagger will do the most damage. That is of course, if you are versed in the handling of such things. I suspect not. You strike me as the more the academic sort.” He falls quiet for a moment, his gaze assessing, and for a moment Jihoon thinks his expression softens as he says, “You are… very small.”</p><p>Jerking his hands out of Seungcheol’s grip, Jihoon clutches it protectively against his chest.</p><p>He can’t be sure if Seungcheol means to be deliberately insulting, or is simply making a passing observation. But his verbal arrows about Jihoon’s stature and academic pursuits have struck rather close to home.</p><p>“You—you are not a very nice man Mr Choi,” He pouts.</p><p>Seungcheol adopts an expression of mock insult. “Well, now—I don’t think that’s very fair. I may be trying to ruin your Uncle and force him out of his home, but you don’t even <em>know</em> my reasons for doing so. Have you stopped to consider that perhaps I plan on turning Weerus Manor into a charitable institute to house the poor?”</p><p>Jihoon tenses, considering, “Are—are you?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>.” Seungcheol say slowly, a short laugh spreading his lips wide “But my point still stands. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to judge the character of a man you meet under very strained circumstances. I <em>could</em> be very nice if you got to know me.”</p><p>Oh well, that settles it. Jihoon hates this man.</p><p>“I do not <em>want</em> to get to know you Mr Choi.”</p><p>Seungcheol nods as though he expected that answer. “More’s the pity.”</p><p>He steps around Jihoon to open the door, holds it open as he leans against the jam.</p><p>“If you intend to remain at your Uncle’s for the foreseeable future, I suggest you sleep with the door firmly bolted. And one eye open, if you possess the skill to do so.”</p><p>“Is that a <em>threat</em>?” Jihoon asks, his voice trembling slightly.</p><p>Seungcheol’s answering smile is both conspiratorial and a bit rueful, too, “No, it is some very sage advice from someone who can’t stand to see you hurt.”</p><p>Scoffing, Jihoon shoves past him and out the door. It'll be a cold day in hell before he heeds any advice from <em>that</em> man. </p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon’s bad luck only intensifies as the day progresses, after he returns to the Manor and learns that in his brief absence, the ornate Chandelier in the grand hall has collapsed as one of the maids attempted to clean it.</p><p>It’s not the poor maids fault of course, simply a result of years of rain seeping through the hole in the roof and decaying the brickwork a floor above. Mr Kim has already brought in a contractor to assess the damage, but the exorbitant fee needed for the repairs it simply too much for the Weerus estate to manage just now. So Jihoon has to spend an inordinate amount of time clearing debris and setting out buckets along the third and fourth floor hallways, to capture any more rainwater than might fall through.</p><p>It’s almost tea-time when he accomplishes the task, and it’s a relief to return to the drier areas of the house and warm his hands by the fire.</p><p>Sitting on the divan, Jihoon is conscious of his wet clothing clinging to his skin and thinks longingly of a hot bath and a pot of tea. But no sooner has he rang the bell for tea, does Mr Kim come bounding into the room, a distressed crease marring his forehead.</p><p>“Master Lee, I—I fear I have even more distressing news.”</p><p>Jihoon is in the process of ruffling a hand through his hair to shake out the worst of the water when the man’s words sink in.</p><p>“Oh no, is it Uncle? Has he—”</p><p>Forestalling him, Mr Kim holds up a hand. “Your Uncle is alive and well. Well—he’s <em>alive</em>. It’s Mrs Bigbottom. She has threatened to hand in her resignation, effective at once.”</p><p>A rush of confusion hits him, and he tries to remember just who the hell Mrs Bigbottom is. He’s almost certain he’s never come across that ridiculous name before.</p><p>“Wait, the cook? But, but I paid her out of my pocket—she assured me she would remain for the rest of the month as long as I saw to her salary.”</p><p>Mr Kim makes an acknowledging noise and rubs his mouth. “It is not the issue of payment that has brought her concern. It is your Uncle. I accept that he has been quite demanding as of late, refusing to eat the food she has prepared unless it is prepared in a very specific way. But now she claims that when she brought him up his lunch a few hours ago, she witnessed him…eating a <em>rat</em>.”</p><p>The little hairs on the back of Jihoon’s neck stand up in a chilly rush.</p><p>“I’m sorry, <em>what</em>?”</p><p>Mr Kim makes a face like he’s tasted something unpleasant. “I too was a little shocked to hear it myself, and when I ventured up to his chambers, I could find no evidence of her claims. But she is adamant that she witnessed it. She says she found him huddling in the corner, chewing on the innards of a rodent, and she is so offended than he would prefer to eat rats over the meal she had prepared that she refuses to remain in the house a moment longer.”</p><p>Jihoon just stares at him, not bothering to mask his disbelief.</p><p>“I’m sorry—are you saying she’s more disturbed that my Uncle snubbed her food over the fact that he ate a live <em>rat</em>?”</p><p>Mr Kim laughs at that, loud and overly hearty, “Oh well, she is quite disturbed about that too, but mostly she seems to be very offended over the suggestion that her food is not ‘good enough’. Mrs Bigbottom is, above all things, a very <em>proud</em> woman.”</p><p>Jihoon moderates the instinctive reaction to roll his eyes by closing them entirely and taking a deep, meditative breath.</p><p>“Alright Mr Kim, I will speak with her.”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Mrs Bigbottom is indeed a proud woman, with a chip on her shoulder visible from half-way across the county. But with a few kind words and a lot of effusive admiration for her exemplary cooking skills, Jihoon manages to assuage her ruffled feathers and she agrees to stay. The same cannot be said about Miss Sweeps the chambermaid however, who submits her notice the very next day following an unfortunate bathing incident with Uncle Weerus.</p><p>Apparently, she had been attempting to aid Mr Kim in bathing Uncle Weerus while he slept—only for him to startle the second the wet cloth touched his skin and lash out, scratching poor Miss Sweeps on the face.</p><p>The gash across her cheek is not unsightly, and should heal with time and proper care. But no amount of compensation or pleading on Jihoon’s part can convince her to stay, and within a week, she is gone from Weerus House, leaving only Mr Kim, Mrs Bigbottom, Scout the footman, and a single chambermaid to care for the house.</p><p>If that wasn’t dispiriting enough, a visit from Uncle’s Weerus’ estate manager reveals that there are no properties left to mortgage in the estate’s portfolio, and that the prized thoroughbreds Jihoon been hoping to offer as guarantee for a small loan have long been purchased by neighbouring viscount.</p><p>Which, unfortunately, only leaves Weerus Manor and its contents as collateral.</p><p>The solicitor Jihoon engages suggests they auction off the contents of the house, particularly the remaining paintings and libraries as a way of minor reimbursement, but the process of cleaning and cataloguing all of Uncle Weerus’ detritus for auction is easier said than done.</p><p>The task is herculean, and far too arduous for the maid to manage alone, and since poor Mr Kim is already run ragged trying to keep the gears of Uncle Weerus’ household running smoothly, Jihoon is forced to set aside his quest for butterflies and roll up his sleeves and sift through decades of dusty heirlooms.</p><p>It takes him one week to sort the study, and another to tackle the contents of the drawing room and the cellar, and by the time he reaches the library, Jihoon is too fatigued to sort through the books there with the meticulous care he would usually grant such tombs of knowledge. Rather, he simply glances at the cover and tosses it into whichever crate is nearest.</p><p>It is with that lack of enthusiasm that he happens across a very peculiar book, tucked in the narrow space between two shelves, where his misdirected toss of a hefty encyclopaedia knocks it out of it’s hiding spot and on to the rug.</p><p>Lifting it, Jihoon opens it to a random page and quickly determines that it’s Uncle Weerus’ private journal, the one he used to carry with him everywhere; an academic treasure trove detailing his thoughts and travels.   </p><p>There’s no harm in snooping—Jihoon reasons with himself as he flips through the pages, for there would be nothing here he doesn’t already know. He’s been in correspondence with his Uncle since he first mastered the quill after all, and he spent an entire childhood idolising the man, so he thinks he can be forgiven for expressing a little academic curiosity.</p><p>Perhaps there would be some mention of his most recent expedition; coordinates would be most helpful, or a map. Possibly drawings. Or maybe just some inane observations that only another intrepid explorer would enjoy.</p><p>Either way, Jihoon’s curiosity gets the better of him and he takes a seat as he begins to read.</p><p>The first page to catch his eye has a symbol sketched in the centre, and a short accompanying paragraph that reads:</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘The endurance stone, merely a myth, or is there more to the stories? Namjoon certainly knows more than he lets on. I know he does. Why he does not wish to share with me, I do not know. I can only suspect the Cardinal has offered him a higher sum to conceal this find from me, though Namjoon swears he no longer vows loyalty to the church.'</em>
</p><p>The symbol is featured heavily in the next few entries, etched in the margins or etched between blocks of philosophical introspection that seem to become increasingly paranoid and disjointed as Jihoon reads on.</p><p>
  <em>‘It’s real. It exists. I have yet to see it with my own eyes, but the evidence is there and the texts never lie. Had I known such a find existed, I wouldn’t have wasted my youth on such pathetic discoveries, though with the stone in my possession, I will reclaim all that has been lost to me once again.’</em>
</p><p>It is quite distressing to see his Uncle in this state, deriding his own achievements in his quest to new heights. But what is <em>most</em> distressing is the entry a few pages ahead.</p><p>
  <em>“Jihoon is a very clever boy, with an admirable thirst for adventure, and I am touched that he wishes to follow in my footsteps. Unfortunately, I feel he will never be able to step out of his siblings shadows, as he is alarmingly small.”</em>
</p><p><em>“</em>Hey<em>!” </em>Jihoon protests loudly.</p><p>The following entry is not any better.</p><p>
  <em>“Jihoon has asked to accompany me on my next trip, but I have had to deny his request yet again. Not only because I can no longer afford an assistant, but because I find him extremely irritating. If I have to hear another anecdote about butterflies, I might just have to lobotomise myself.”</em>
</p><p>Rightly offended, Jihoon snaps the diary shut and promptly sends it hurtling across the room.</p><p>It hits the wall with a thud, prompting Mr Kim to poke his head into the library a few moments later.</p><p>“Something the matter Master Lee?”</p><p>“It’s nothing,” Jihoon heaves a sigh, moving to the chaise lounge, feeling slightly exhausted as his emotions take their toll. “I suppose by now I should be used to dissapointment, but somehow people always find a way of surprising me.”</p><p>Mr Kim comes into the room and cocks his head, giving him a quiet smile, “Fret not. I have some news that may lift your spirits. It seems Miss Tattler, the Colonel’s daughter, spotted you in church on Sunday and enquired as to who you may be. And, well, she has extended an invitation for you to attend a supper at the family residence this coming Thursday.”</p><p>“Oh, must I?” Jihoon gives a theatrical groan as he slumps into his seat.</p><p>Avoiding these functions was the precise reason he came to Weerus Manor. Though he knew with his background, and Uncle Weerus’ occupation, it’s the vainest of vain hopes to think he could escape one of the most tiresome social activities of the upper classes forever.</p><p>Mr Kim’s expression shifts from pleased to perplexed. “Well, certainly you are withing your rights to decline. I merely thought you would enjoy a change in scenery, and I’m told a supper at the Colonel’s is quite the splendid affair. Miss Tattler is a very fine young lady, and the Colonel himself was always a great patron of your Uncle’s expeditions, even when they were at their most fruitless. Perhaps you could represent his future interests by attending.”</p><p>Not for the first time, Jihoon is sorely tempted to let fly with some of the more colourful language that would make his mother weep. Being a gentleman had its drawbacks, he sourly realizes, especially now, when Mr Kim is looking at him so expectantly. Like he honestly believes the answer to all of Weerus Manor’s financial woes lie in the hand of some society heavyweight.</p><p>“I suppose I have no choice then.” Comes his exasperated grumble.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon adjusts his cravat, looking up at the magnificent facade of the house as he carefully dismounts his ride.  </p><p>Colonel Tattler’s home is a stark contrast to Weerus Manor. It’s a modern style of build, bright and airy, remarkably similar to the house Jihoon grew up in, and the lively energy that greets him as he saunters up the path makes Weerus manor seem like a <em>mausoleum</em> in comparison.</p><p>The guests in attendance are all new faces to him, although he immediately identifies the man in red double breasted jacket and the larger than life presence as the host, Colonel Tattler, and the young woman at his side with curly wisps of hair and alert eyes as his daughter.</p><p>They’re conversing with a man that looks familiar. Odd, when Jihoon can see nothing but the broad expanse of his back, but before he can move to get a better look, Miss Tattler leaves the conversation to greet him warmly.</p><p>“Ah Mr Lee—I am so very pleased you could join us this evening.”</p><p>“The pleasure is all mine Miss Tattler, you are most kind to invite me.” Jihoon smiles cordially, bowing over Miss Tattler’s hand.</p><p>Miss Tattler gives him a radiant crimson smile, “Please—call me Titty. I know we have only met, but I am certain by the end of the evening we will be firm friends. Come, allow me to introduce you everyone.”</p><p>She proceeds to sally Jihoon around the room, introducing him to the clearly well-established circle of her friends and associates. There’s too many of them to keep track and they all look annoyingly similar, and Jihoon’s head spins a little as the florid moustached face of Viscount Something-or-other and his nervous, mousy looking fiancé is replaced by a string of replicas in different clothing.</p><p>They make their way back to the Colonel’s side eventually, who’s still deep in conversation, educating some unfortunate sod about the Tattler family tree in <em>excruciating</em> detail. He pauses mid-sentence to welcome Jihoon however, grasping his hand with alarming firmness as he pumps it vigorously.</p><p>Before they can exchange more than a basic greeting, the gentleman Colonel Tattler was conversing with turns to address him too, and Jihoon comes face to face with the last person he wanted to see.</p><p>It’s Choi Bloody Seungcheol…but</p><p>Oh, not as Jihoon remembers him.</p><p>He looks <em>different.</em> And it isn’t just his clothes, of a finer cut and cloth than any Jihoon has seen him wear. His hair has been washed and cut too, and <em>styled</em>, neatly brushed back from his temples.</p><p>Immensely conscious of the people around him, it’s hard for Jihoon not to let his shock and astonishment show. </p><p>He had not expected to see Mr Choi here.</p><p>From what Mr Kim has informed him, a dinner at the Colonel’s is an offer extended only to the most privileged men and women of gentry, and from his own experiences with the man, he is certain Seungcheol is no gentleman. Yet here the man is, with a glass of claret in his hand and an arrogant tilt to his chin—settling into the skin of someone with a fair amount more breeding than he actually has.</p><p>When he sets eyes on Jihoon, a matching look of utter surprise crosses his face. He recovers quickly though, straightening up and shifting his weight back on his heel, as though he’s about to greet him, only for Miss Tattler to wade in with a slight quirk of her eyebrow and a smooth, “And you already know your neighbour, Mr Choi, I’m sure.”</p><p>Jihoon smiles a little uncomfortably. "Yes, we’ve met." He says, but what he meant to say was <em>die die die Seungcheol die</em>.</p><p>“Oh good,” Miss Tattler coos, dividing a mischievous look between them. Then, taking her father’s arm, she summons the rest of her guests and leads the way to dinner.</p><p>Jihoon holds back as the guests file past him, more out of irritation than politeness, and when the room is empty but for the two of them, Seungcheol saunters over to him, both hands firmly clasped behind that broad back.</p><p>"Well, well—Mr Lee," he says, not deterred by Jihoon's glare in the slightest. “What a pleasure it is to see you here tonight. I feared this evening would be dreadfully dull, but now with you here…I’m glad I accepted the invitation.”</p><p>He’s being sarcastic.</p><p>He’s <em>obviously</em> being sarcastic even though he manages not to sound it.</p><p>Jihoon levels him his most haughty, scornful look.</p><p>It’s probably not as effective as it should be when he’s blushing all the way up to his <em>ears</em>.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>The meal, as expected, is an extravagant affair, despite the backdrop of heavy rain and wind battering the windows and the, frankly, <em>mind numbing</em> conversation.</p><p>Jihoon, who normally counts himself a friendly sort, can barely muster up a word to speak, preferring to focus on the courses as his dinner companions drone on. He’s always despised the mealy-mouthed exchange of words that pass for conversation in the dining rooms of ‘The ton’, and tonight is no different. The other guests seem to speak with authority on subjects they know nothing about, and more than once Jihoon has to bite his tongue in order to avoid starting a quarrel with some pompous idiot whose hardest decision he’s made all day is deciding in what style to tie his cravat.</p><p>He stops actively listening all together when it becomes evident Miss Tattler herself is nothing but a society gossip trying to pry into everyone’s affairs, and has only invited both him and Seungcheol along to heighten the tension.</p><p>She’s even seated them across from each other and in the centre of the table, perhaps hoping prolonged eye-contact over the platter of <em>Apples a la Parisienne</em> will provoke them into some sort of <em>food fight</em> to entertain them all.</p><p>Jihoon at least has the good foresight not to engage in that sort of unpleasantness, though he can’t be certain Seungcheol won’t.</p><p>The man hasn’t been behaving in an outwardly threatening manner as such, but he has doing quite a bit of <em>staring</em> in Jihoon’s direction. And with a heated intensity that, under different circumstances, would make Jihoon fear he was about to be chased around a garden maze and <em>ravaged </em>against his will.</p><p>Jihoon doesn’t not know what to make of that look in the present context. He isn't accustomed to being stared at like that, and definitely not by another <em>man</em>. And he’s absolutely certain he isn't supposed to be...getting <em>aroused</em> at the prospect. But he supposes Mr Choi’s no ordinary gentleman: despite his arrogance and lack of social graces, he’s still dark and broody and strikingly handsome. Even Jihoon can appreciate that, you know, <em>aesthetically</em>.</p><p>“He is very brazen tonight, is he not?”</p><p>Miss Tattler’s voice startles Jihoon, and he is turns his head to find the woman is leaning towards him, a bit brazen herself.</p><p>“W-who?”</p><p>“Mr Choi of course,” Miss Tattler says, looking back and forth between them. “He has not stopped staring at you since dinner began, and he has been quite indiscreet about it.”</p><p>Jihoon spares the man in question but a glance before he returns his attention to the lamb cutlet on his plate. There are a good many things he’d like to say of Mr. Choi, but since none of them rank in a particularly ‘restrained’ vein, the closest dislike for the man he will permit himself to show is a complete lack of interest.</p><p>“Has he? Hm.”</p><p>Levelling him a knowing look, Miss Tattler bends towards him, confidingly. "Oh, come Mr Lee, surely you have noticed when his gaze is so intently fixed on your person.” she whispers in his ear. "I honestly don’t know what to make of it. If you were a lady, I would say you have an <em>admirer</em>.”</p><p>Jihoon is sure he is alarmingly red as he takes a hasty sip of wine. Thankfully, Miss Tattler’s attentions are too focused across the table to notice his fluster.</p><p>“You know, it may not seem like it when you converse with him, but he outranks us all. His mother was a Lady you see—a <em>Duke’s</em> daughter.” She says, without taking her eyes off Seungcheol.</p><p>Jihoon can’t contain his surprise at that.  </p><p>Not so much at the thought of Seungcheol as a man of title and considerable wealth, but more at thought of obtaining any information on Choi Seungcheol at all. In Jihoon’s desperate attempts at researching the man, he’d found it remarkably difficult to source any pertinent about the illusive Choi Bloodline, both locally and farther afield. Which led him to believe that the Choi’s favoured their privacy in all matters and have gone great lengths to conceal themselves from society.</p><p>The fact that Miss Tattler has managed to gleam anything in such a brief acquaintance is alarming.</p><p>“Is that so? I had no idea.”</p><p>Miss Tattler looks pleased with herself, as though she considers his mild interest a victory. “Yes indeed. My father has many connections, and knows the family well. Mr Choi’s maternal grandfather was a very powerful man, and a considerable title and inheritance was Lady Choi’s to claim at her coming of age. But she was forced to rescind it all when she <em>eloped</em>.”</p><p>Jihoon feels a little jolt at this, though he quickly smothers any reaction that might show on his face. </p><p>“Eloped?”</p><p>“Oh yes,” Miss Tattler says hurriedly, pitching her voice low, so as not to be overheard. “I shouldn’t be telling you this really, but it was quite the scandal.”</p><p>Now normally Jihoon would not lend an ear to such gossip mongering; discussing the personal lives of people he is unacquainted with is quite, quite unbecoming. But he thinks he may make an exception in Seungcheol’s case, especially when he notices how objectionable the man finds the entire conversation.</p><p>Seungcheol is still slouched in the seat, his body language aggressively disinterested, but Jihoon doesn't miss the white-knuckled clench of his hands around his cutlery.</p><p>“A scandal you say?” Jihoon asks, making his eyes go wide with alarm. He smiles indulgently. "Do go on."</p><p>If nothing else, this dreadfully dull gathering is giving his long-neglected dramatic talents a good airing.</p><p>Miss Tattler’s eyes light up and she launches into an explanation.</p><p>“She had just turned nineteen when she was tricked into marriage to a man with unsavoury associations. A local merchant who had pursued her tirelessly, no doubt seeking her considerable inheritance. As the only daughter, and the Duke’s favourite child, her father would not give his blessing to such an unsuitable union, so the fiend persuaded her to cut ties with her entire family and leave with him in the middle of the night. She was disinherited by the Duke as a result, and had no contact with the family for many years. But when the Duke fell ill and was presumed to be on deaths door, she returned to make amends, and to everyone’s shock, she brought with her a ten-year-old boy. A son she’d conceived with the merchant. The Duke was so overjoyed to know he had a grandson, he amended his will and accepted her back. Of course, she would not be so easily accepted back into proper society and remained a recluse for much of her life. But her inheritance ensured her son would have a gentleman’s education even if he could not retain a worthy title. Quite a tragic outcome for poor Mr Choi, don’t you think. He could have been a Duke!”</p><p>Jihoon barely stifles a disapproving snort.</p><p>The story doesn’t ring of tragedy to him. Gaining an inheritance without all the pomp and ceremony sounds like the best of both worlds, and Mr Choi is a very lucky man to have dodged such a tiresome birth right. He’s a free man with the means to do as he pleases, and Jihoon only wishes he could say the same for himself.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>The rest of the evening passes with interminable slowness, and the dullest rendition of <em>Polwart on The Green, </em>that Jihoon actually contemplates disguising himself as one of the servants to escape.  </p><p>He isn’t sure what is more excruciating, sitting through hours of amateur pianists and soloists, being asked to admire their anaemic talents, or retiring for a glass of port to listen to the nonsense that passes as seasoned judgment on the part of the men. But by the time Jihoon is shaking Colonel Tattler’s hand and offering his thanks, he is desperate to leave and quite happy if he is never to be invited for dinner again.</p><p>Unfortunately, Mr Choi is saying his goodbyes at the same time, and since they are headed relatively in the same direction, it’s customary that they depart together.</p><p>Jihoon takes him time collecting his horse from the stable-hand, hoping the delay will ensure Seungcheol departs well ahead of him and they won’t be forced into an exceedingly awkward encounter on their return journey.</p><p>But Seungcheol, to the surprise of absolutely no one, has other plans.</p><p>As Jihoon passes the front of the Colonel’s estate, he finds Seungcheol idling by the gates, presumably <em>waiting</em> for him. They fall into step together whether Jihoon likes it not, and proceed towards home side by side.</p><p>Jihoon keeps his lips sealed and his gaze locked straight ahead, but feels himself going a little red under Seungcheol’s relentless scrutiny. The man continues to stare at him sidelong as they trot along, in a pointed sort of way that Jihoon thinks he's supposed to understand. Which is puzzling at first, then infuriating, followed by a slow descent into low-grade bafflement.</p><p>“I really do wish you’d stop.” Jihoon finally says, if only to fill the increasingly uncomfortable silence.</p><p>“Stop what?” Seungcheol’s face is still carefully blank, and it only infuriates Jihoon further.</p><p>“<em>Staring</em> at me.” He says, as acerbically as he can. “You’re doing it rather obviously, and you’ve been doing it all night. More than one person has noticed too.”</p><p>“<em>And</em>?”</p><p>Jihoon clears his throat awkwardly. “And, well—is there a particular reason you <em>must</em>?”</p><p>Seungcheol huffs a smile, finally tearing his eyes away, “I suppose not. But you must admit it was a rather dull evening; I think I can be excused for staring at the most interesting thing in the room.”</p><p>Now it’s <em>Jihoon’s</em> turn to stare, and he lets his gaze rest on Seungcheol’s profile for just a bit longer than customary. The quirk of his mouth suggests that he’s teasing, but there’s a trace of something cautious in his eyes.</p><p>Jihoon’s still trying to get a read on him when Seungcheol clears his throat pointedly.</p><p>“Miss Tattler’s a handsome young woman, and she seemed rather taken by you. Would you say the interest is <em>reciprocated</em>?”</p><p>Jihoon freezes because that’s… an absurd conversational leap.</p><p>Is Seungcheol trying to change the subject?</p><p>Honestly, Jihoon isn’t even sure what the subject <em>is. </em>He fights to sense the context, the particular hovering motive, but nothing springs to mind.</p><p>Regardless, he feels oddly offended, and lets every ounce of cold disdain he possesses pour into his words as he says, “And what business is it of yours? Miss Tattler is indeed a handsome young woman, and would make a very fine match with any gentleman of good standing. Whether I would entertain such a notion is none of your concern. Unless of course, she has caught <em>your</em> eye and you acknowledge my presence as a challenge.”</p><p>Seungcheol lets out a little bark of laughter. “I assure you that is not the case at all. Miss Tattler is not the type to catch my eye. Had she been, surely it would have <em>her</em> I would have spent the evening staring at.”</p><p>Jihoon can’t speak for a moment, can barely think past the sudden rush of terror and peculiar excitement that Seungcheol's blunt speech provokes in him. He becomes aware that his mouth is hanging open foolishly and shuts it with a click because Seungcheol is watching him, waiting for his response.</p><p><em>Probably waiting for me to make a fool of myself</em>—comes the bitter after-thought.</p><p>“It’s not true, you know.” Seungcheol breaks the silence while Jihoon is still struggling to compose himself. “What Miss Tattler said about my father; he wasn’t some ruffian who forced my mother to elope. He was merely a man out of his means to offer a suitable dowry, and it was my mother who insisted they elope. She told me so herself. My parents were very much in love, and they were quite happy together, and despite what everyone claims, she gave up her title without an ounce of regret.”</p><p>“Why are you telling me this?” Jihoon asks, remembering about Seungcheol’s tendency to not offer information freely.</p><p>Seungcheol shrugs, but the tightness around his eyes—visible in the passing illumination of a moonlight—belies the careless gesture. “I heard Miss Tattler inform you on the subject and felt the need to correct the misinformation before you spread it around. I am familiar with the Ton’s penchant for gossip.”</p><p>It takes Jihoon a moment to remember how to think, and then at once he is indignant, “I beg your <em>pardon</em>."</p><p>Seungcheol inclines his head to Jihoon’s reaction. There is a sharp note to his voice at odds with his languorous air when he says, “What? Do you <em>deny</em> it?”</p><p>“Yes, I do deny it. I do not gossip Mr Choi.”</p><p>Seungcheol strokes his chin, an amused glint in his eyes. “Yet, you <em>were</em> gossiping with Miss Tattler at the dinner table.”</p><p>“Miss Tattler was the one gossiping.” Jihoon barks. “I merely had to sit through it. And I’ll have you know I am not the type to spread news about someone I hardly know. I would not have shared what she told me.”</p><p>“How gentlemanly of you.” Seungcheol retorts, smooth and sly and needling.</p><p>Jihoon hastily gathers a response to that. “Indeed. Yes, I <em>am</em> a gentleman, which is a darnsite more than I can say about you.”</p><p>Tipping his head, Seungcheol puts on a wounded pout that Jihoon doesn’t buy for a second. “That’s unfair. I deliberately waited for you so that we could ride back together, so I could escort you safely home. Was that not gentlemanly of me?”</p><p>An entirely absurd bolt of indignation travels through Jihoon. “I am not a lady Mr Choi. I do not require <em>chaperoning</em>. I am perfectly capable of finding my way home without your assistance.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s laugh is low and rumbling. "Don't take this the wrong way, petal," He says, sending Jihoon's already raised hackles sky-high, "But I disagree.”</p><p>The moment shatters when the sound of a gunshot rings through the air, and for the second time that night, Jihoon and Seungcheol stare at each other, matching surprise mirrored on their faces.</p><p>For a horrifying second, Jihoon almost believes he’s magicked a pistol from somewhere and shot Seungcheol for being so infuriatingly annoying. Except the cocking of a pistol up ahead quickly determines that is <em>not</em> the case.</p><p>Blocking the road directly in front of them are two figures, one mounted on a grey mare, the other standing off to the side. They are dressed in black great-coats, their features disguised behind a mask, and they both have their pistols aimed directly at Jihoon and Seungcheol.  </p><p>“Apologies for the interruption gentleman,” The man on horseback calls out, “But we’ve been following you for some time, and as it has become clear you would never cease your bickering, we had no choice but to intervene. Now, if you would kindly pass my associate your pocket books and any jewellery you might have on your persons, you can return to your bickering and <em>we</em> can be on our way without any <em>trouble</em>.”</p><p>Jihoon has been debating, for several weeks, whether Seungcheol is strangely averse to showing his shock or if he is simply really good at guessing what people will say or do next. The point is now settled as Seungcheol turns his head to regard the two thieves and rolls his eyes long-sufferingly, like he finds the idea of being robbed at gunpoint rather <em>irritating</em>.</p><p>Like he'd had better <em>plans</em> for the night.</p><p>Jihoon dearly wishes he could remain just as calm, but he has never been held at gunpoint in his entire life. He doesn't do anything nearly as cool as roll his eyes. Instead, he throws his hands in the air, murmuring a frantic, "Please no, I’ll do anything you want! Don’t kill me!"</p><p>The thief on horseback exchange a brief smile with his cohort, then laugh, nasally and revolting. “What a tempting proposition. Perhaps we <em>will</em> take you up on that offer—once you relinquish your possessions.”</p><p>That sounds……<em>not promising. </em></p><p>Jihoon can’t quite put his finger on <em>why</em>, but the outcome of the evening seems to have taken a much darker turn and he thinks it’s partly his fault. Nevertheless, he scrambles to pull the billfold out of his pocket and remove the ring his parents gifted him for his 18<sup>th</sup> birthday. It’s the only piece of jewellery he’d been gifted that wasn’t an unwanted throwaway from his elder siblings, and he’s very sad to part with it. But, well—needs must!</p><p>“<em>Jihoon</em>, what the hell are you doing?” Seungcheol huffs as Jihoon holds his out his possessions.</p><p>Jihoon eyeballs him when he notices he isn’t doing the same. In fact, he’s made no move whatsoever to comply with the thieves demands.</p><p>“I’m surrendering my possessions as requested. If you value your life, you should do the same.”</p><p>“But there’s only <em>two</em> of them.” Seungcheol says, sounding steadier than Jihoon expects.</p><p>“They have pistols!” Jihoon hisses, “Do <em>you</em> have a pistol?”</p><p>Mischief dances in Seungcheol’s eyes. “No… but I have <em>knives</em>.”</p><p>Hysteria bubbles in Jihoon's chest, and a single bark of laughter escapes at the absurdity of those words, “What good will <em>that</em> do?”</p><p>Seungcheol must misinterpret this as some sort of <em>challenge</em>, because he quickly whips aside his jacket to reveal a set of daggers strapped to his upper thigh, and with a dexterity surprising for the size of his hands, he unsheathes two and sends them flying at the two men standing ahead.</p><p>In the blink of an eye the two highwaymen collapse to the ground, clutching their throats. Their horse startles, rocking back on her hindlegs with a whine before galloping away, dragging its incapacitated owner behind her, until Jihoon is left staring at the remaining man drowning in a pool of his blood in abject horror.</p><p>“Oh my god…..” Jihoon feels himself growing faint. “You…you killed them!”</p><p>Seungcheol simply makes a <em>it can't be helped</em> gesture.</p><p>“Did—did you just <em>shrug</em>?” Jihoon flails, all rough panic and hysteria. “How can you be so <em>callous?</em> You just killed two innocent people!”</p><p>Seungcheol scoffs, dismounting to retrieve his dagger from the dead man’s neck. He wipes the smear of blood off the blade on the man’s jacket before sheathing the knife again.  </p><p>“Now Jihoon—their type can <em>hardly</em> be called innocent. And after your adorable display of helplessness, I really doubt they would have been satisfied with <em>just</em> stealing from us tonight. In fact, I dare say they probably would have dragged you into the woods at had their wicked way with you had I not intervened.” He stops a few steps shy of Jihoon’s horse and cocks his head, exuding the air of deadly calm as he gives Jihoon a positively <em>filthy</em> once over, “You <em>are</em> very lovely to look at after all.”</p><p>Jihoon thinks he should be objecting to that.</p><p>He should be objecting to that strongly, and in very strong terms. But a sense of weightlessness overcomes him then, and all he can bring himself to be concerned about is how far it is to the ground if he were to fain—</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon wakes to a strange jolting, swaying movement that’s not at all comfortable. The only reason he knows he’s moving is because the ground is passing beneath his feet, but at a strange angle that shouldn’t be possible unless he was…. hanging off the edge of his horse?</p><p>Apparently, that’s exactly what he’s doing.</p><p>Only it’s <em>Seungcheol’s</em> horse he appears to straddling in a, frankly, undignified way. And if Jihoon’s not mistaken, that’s <em>Seungcheol’s</em> hand resting over his rear end, holding him in place.</p><p>Over his <em>lap</em>.</p><p>Jihoon considers saying nothing for a moment; the less awkwardness to arise the better. But then the swaying turns into <em>swirling</em>—a horrible ebb and flow that doesn't know which way is up, so just flows wherever it likes.</p><p>Jihoon’s stomach and his head do not like this at all, and he's going to be very sick in a minute. He buries both hands in the leather of the saddle and shakes it.</p><p>“Set me down.” He groans, because he's not sure if his body likes this. In fact, he's entirely certain that it doesn't.</p><p>Above him, Seungcheol huffs a laugh and pats him on the backside. “We’re nearly there. Go back to sleep Petal.”</p><p>“No, set me down. I’m going to be sick.” Jihoon tells him, because it's always polite to warn someone about something like that.</p><p>He's expecting to be tossed over the edge, immediately, even braces himself for the short fall and the unpleasant stop when he hits the dirt. But Seungcheol merely brings the horse to a stop and quickly dismounts, then carefully helps Jihoon do the same.</p><p>Jihoon feel his knees shake as his feet touch the ground; he reaches for the saddle, bracing against it to steady himself and breathes in deeply. A moment later, Seungcheol takes hold of his elbow and guides him over to a large tree stump jutting out of the grass.</p><p>It’s a simple gesture—but kind in its way, though Jihoon still ends up huffing, gritty and tired, hand lashing out and slapping away Seungcheol’s offer of assistance.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>Seungcheol sighs, loudly, and grumbles something under his breath which Jihoon is sure is very rude and uncomplimentary before saying, out loud, “Two highwaymen attempted to steal from us. I killed them. You disapproved and then… <em>fainted</em>.”</p><p>Jihoon flushes at the memory. “And my <em>horse</em>?”</p><p>Seungcheol's brow furrows uncertainly beneath his fridge, “Back at the stables I suspect. He startled and fled in the confusion, couldn’t do much than let him go.”</p><p>That annoyance helps Jihoon regain some equilibrium, and with a sigh he picks himself up gingerly. The hand the reaches out to cup his elbow isn't exactly welcome, but he currently lacks the energy to shake it off, so he ends up staring at it for a moment as the events of the evening flash behind his eyes.</p><p>“How did you do that?” He finds himself asking quietly, “That thing with the knives, the <em>throwing</em>? I may not be a trained swordsman myself, but I am certain that is not a skill a gentleman acquires through usual means.”</p><p>Instead of answering, Seungcheol looks away, smoothing his cuff absently. </p><p><em>Oh fine, be mysterious</em>—Jihoon thinks to himself as he jerks his elbow out of Seungcheol’s grip.   </p><p>He has absolutely no intention of climbing back up onto Seungcheol’s horse, but the man simply refuses to let him walk the rest of the way, and despite Jihoon’s protests, hikes him back up onto the saddle with ease.</p><p>Thankfully, Jihoon is able to retain a little more <em>dignity</em> this time, straddling the horse as it was intended. Though that is quickly spoiled when instead of climbing up behind him, Seungcheol takes the reigns and proceeds to guide the horse on foot with a meandering pace.</p><p>Like he—what? Thinks Jihoon might faint again?</p><p>Honestly.</p><p>Nevertheless, Jihoon tolerates the kindness of the gesture quietly, finding the sway of the horse—and the snug fit of his buckskins—far more uncomfortable than usual. It’s only when they reach the Manor grounds, and Seungcheol takes a left towards the woods, instead of a right towards the house does Jihoon protest.  </p><p>“And where do you think you are taking me?”</p><p>Seungcheol stops at once, and turns to look at him, deadly serious. “My home. As you can plainly see, your household has retired for the night. Surely you don’t intend to wake them at such an hour simply to welcome you back?”</p><p>“Of course, I don’t.” Jihoon sneers in protest. “I have a <em>key</em>. I will let myself in.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s eyebrows lift up, as if he is stunned to learn that Jihoon isn’t the spoiled sort of brat who expects to be waited on hand and foot.</p><p>And honestly, his gall.</p><p>Certainly, Jihoon has been privileged long enough that he is comfortable having servants, but he draws the line at making them kick their heels long past midnight just because he’s out <em>enjoying</em> himself, so he has standing orders for the household to take itself off to bed at a reasonable hour. He may be the son of an Earl, but he has not lost the use of his hands for god’s sake. He is perfectly capable of turning down is own bed and undressing himself and says as much.</p><p>With obvious reluctance, Seungcheol nods.</p><p>“As you wish,” He says, holding a hand out to help Jihoon down from the horse, “But if I may, allow me to request a simple favour of you.”</p><p>Jihoon can’t help but narrow his eyes suspiciously, though he can’t deny Seungcheol has been frightfully forthright about everything he does so far.</p><p>“And what might <em>that</em> be?”</p><p>Seungcheol grins, as if charmed by his ire. Then reaching a hand up, he trails his gloved fingers down the side of Jihoon's face, brushing back a small piece of hair that Jihoon had not felt come errant.</p><p>“You must place a candle in your window when you have returned to your room and locked the door, so I may know you are safe.”</p><p>Jihoon thinks about saying no to that. Truly, he does. But then Seungcheol’s leaning in, much too close, and when he whispers breathily in his ear, Jihoon’s heart stops, then starts again.</p><p>“If you do not, I will not hesitate to come in there after you.”</p><p>“F-fine, yes, okay,” Jihoon stutters, so flustered by Seungcheol’s proximity he doesn’t notice the other man’s hand has slipped into his jacket pocket until he feels a small, round weight settle against his hip.</p><p>For a moment he hesitates, but only for a moment. Then bidding Seungcheol goodnight, he turns on his heels and strides towards the house without a glance back.</p><p>The Manor, when he finally makes his way inside, is deathly quiet, almost eerie with the absence of servant’s footsteps and the cook’s tuneless whistling. There’s just enough moonlight coming through the windows to show him the candelabra Mr Kim has left out for him, and Jihoon wastes no time in striking a match to light his path.</p><p>The shadows give way before his candle, the small flame straining to illuminate the massive space. But the moment he takes a turning for the stairs, he startles at the sight of a figure standing in the corner, partly concealed by a moth-eaten stuffed lion.</p><p>A footman, Jihoon determines when he takes a step closer, dressed in the Weerus Manor livery. His face is set, the lower half in shadow, the upper half in light from the candle—and his eyes stare unerringly back at Jihoon.</p><p>“Oh, hello there,” Jihoon says, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. He is certain the chill that snakes down his spine is irrational. “Scout is it? Did Mr Kim ask you to wait for me? I did tell him it wouldn’t be necessary but nevertheless, thank you. It’s very kind of you.”</p><p>Scout makes a noise then, a wet rasping noise that sounds like he’s choking on his own tongue.</p><p>It makes Jihoon’s skin crawl, it sounds so horribly, brutally <em>wrong</em>, and he turns for the stairs with a quick, jerky wave.</p><p>“Well. I’ll be heading to bed now. Goodnight Scout.”</p><p>Jihoon climbs the stairs to his bedchamber quickly, without a backwards glance, even though he hears Scout stumbling behind him, attempting and failing to catch up.</p><p>The man has clearly been helping himself to Mr Kim’s whiskey collection and is drunk out of his mind, and Jihoon is too tired to put up with anyone’s drunken antics.</p><p>Once he arrives in his room and the door is firmly locked behind him, Jihoon takes the candelabra and as promised, parts the curtains to set it on the windowsill. He doesn’t know what to expect when he glances outside, but it’s not Seungcheol still standing below, watching the windows of the house patiently.</p><p>Without conscious thought, Jihoon holds up his hand to signal him.</p><p>Perhaps he waves a little too, because Seungcheol smiles and waves back. Then with a firm nod, he steers the horse away towards the woods. Jihoon watches until he disappears out of view, fingers playing over the rough edges of the small object Seungcheol had slipped into his pocket earlier.</p><p>When he pulls it out to study it in the candlelight, he’s bewildered to find it to be a ladies’ brooch, and a very ornate one at that.</p><p>Delicate silver metalwork encases a dark, almost black stone in the centre. Not exactly a piece Jihoon could wear unobtrusively, and definitely not one a practical man such as Mr Choi would wear. Unless it’s not <em>his</em> of course.</p><p><em>Where did he get it? And why on earth did he give it to me? —</em>Jihoon wonders as he readies himself for bed.</p><p>It doesn’t occur to him, until many hours later when he’s tossing fitfully in bed, that signalling Seungcheol which room is his is the height of madcap recklessness. Choi Seungcheol is all too plainly a dangerous man.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>The footman, Scout, does not report for duty the next morning, and when his left boot is found discarded on the back steps by the Cook as she fetches the milk and the newspaper, it is determined that he too, as many others before him, has sought alternative employment.</p><p>Jihoon hasn’t slept well, and is already up and pacing in the study by the time Mr Kim comes to inform him of the news. He shakes his head at Mr Kim’s suggestion of a hearty breakfast. “Just some toast perhaps.”</p><p>“Very good Master Lee.” Mr Kim nods. If he’s intrigued by the brooch sitting in the centre of the desk he doesn’t let on, leaving Jihoon to his pacing.</p><p>Earlier that morning, Jihoon had taken his time examining the brooch thoroughly, looking at it from every angle, even carefully prying the black tourmaline stone within from its silver casing, to study the underside.</p><p>Nothing seemed particularly unusual at first, until he ran the flat of his thumb over the stone itself, felt the ridges and demarcations of an engraving along its surface.</p><p>The pattern there was etched too finely and the stone too black to determine what it was unaided, so Jihoon gathered some white ash from a cold log by the fireplace and smeared it over the markings, hoping the pattern would become more visible.</p><p>What the ash revealed….<em>stunned</em> him, and is the reason he remains pacing up and down the study in deep thought now. There was a pentacle etched on the stone’s flat surface, and with such perfect symmetry it could have only been done deliberately.</p><p>Which poses many unusual questions.</p><p>Why would Seungcheol try and sneak this into his pocket?</p><p>Is he hoping to accuse him of something? Of paganism, or simply theft?</p><p>Would the man really sink <em>that</em> low?</p><p>An hour of scouring through the books in the library later, Jihoon finds himself considering matters in a different light. The symbology of a pentacle has many variations throughout history—some absurd, some fascinating enough to merit looking into if he had more time to spare—but it’s the significance of the black tourmaline stone as a protective charm that has Jihoon wondering if perhaps Seungcheol’s intentions were <em>not</em> so malevolent.</p><p>The choice of stone could be coincidence of course, and the ideology that its shielding properties are magnified when combined with a symbol many consider to be inherently protective is conjectural at best.</p><p>But still, Jihoon wonders to himself, and says so aloud. “What could Seungcheol possible want to protect me from?”</p><p>It doesn’t do to dwell on, he finally decides, when he’s <em>already</em> dwelled on it far too long. So he stalks back into the study and gathers the pieces on his desk, reassembles the brooch carefully. Then, grabbing a piece of letterheaded paper, he scribbles a note and slips the brooch into the envelope.</p><p>A furious yank on the bell-pull summons Mr Kim, who stares wide-eyed at him as he hands over the letter. “Please ensure this is returned to Mr Choi at once.”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon honestly can’t remember when he’d had a worse day.</p><p>He’d set off early in the morning to attend to some business in town, but the weather had turned foul shortly after he started out, and what should have been a two hour trip took nearly four hours of slogging through a hard downpour and squelching in the mud. More than once he was forced to get out and walk alongside the carriage in order for it to have any hope of making it over the gentle hills he usually didn’t even notice. </p><p>By the time the carriage <em>finally</em> made it to town, he was soaked through, caked in mud, and shivering so badly his teeth chattered, and he wanted nothing more than to complete his business and head straight home.</p><p>Such was not to be, however.</p><p>Uncle Weerus’ solicitor was out of town on business, and his secretary could not locate the documents he needed to sign; the post office had shut early for the day so he was unable to mail any of his very urgent letters, and the apothecarist had completely sold out of the sleeping tonic he’d hoped to buy and was awaiting the shipment of a vital ingredient to prepare another batch.</p><p>All in all, not a very promising start to his day, and after he casts a knowing glance toward the sky, he suspects there won’t be a very promising <em>end</em> to it either.</p><p>The wind is still coming in from the sea, and the dark clouds in the distance tell him of more weather to come. The wise course of action would be to begin his journey home before the rain returns, but instead Jihoon takes a stroll along the street, stopping by each shopfront to inspect the wares for sale.</p><p>He steps inside the tailors for a spell, and his disappointment with the day is mildly tempered by a visit to the bookshop. The air outside the bakery has a lovely fragrance to it: smelling that of freshly baked apples, pumpkin bread and hot cider. Tempting enough to draw him inside and purchase a buttered apple pie.</p><p>In truth, he’s not all that peckish for it, or in need of anything in particular but he just isn’t ready to return home yet. He feels trapped by the estate that he loves and crushed by his responsibilities to the people who live on it—including a much beloved Uncle who seems to be growing more madder by the day.</p><p>At least out here, he’s away from all those burdens and can think without disruption.</p><p>“Your pie looks divine. If only I could tempt you to share it with me.”</p><p>Apparently, he spoke to soon.</p><p>Turning, Jihoon pouts when he comes face to face with Mr Choi. Well, face to <em>chest</em> actually. The man is unfairly tall and uses it to his advantage, looming over Jihoon with a mischievous smile on his face.</p><p>Jihoon draws himself up as tall as he can and levels him a stern look, “Are you following me?”</p><p>The barest hint of a smile flickers across Seungcheol’s face. “Whatever gave you that idea?”</p><p>Giving the man what he hopes is a scathing once over, Jihoon points at the leather riding crop held in his hand, “I spotted the swing of this very same riding crop at the butchers. Then again at the post office, and I am certain it was <em>you</em> hovering in the alleyway outside the watchmakers, so I will ask you again—are you following me?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>"Poppycock, I know you’ve been—" Jihoon draws up short. Stares. Goes suddenly, utterly still. And after several seconds of stunned silence, says, "I'm sorry, what?"</p><p>“I said yes. You were right, I was following you Jihoon,” Seungcheol repeats, all bland pleasantry layered over teasing.</p><p>Jihoon gawps at him. “W-why?”</p><p>Seungcheol shrugs lazily, “Because I am bored with this county and most of the people in it, and I must admit, your prancing around town makes for a very entertaining sight.”</p><p>Nettled, Jihoon replies sharply. “I do not <em>prance</em>.”</p><p>Seungcheol tilts his head in Jihoon’s direction, his eyebrow shooting up again. “Ah now, you do prance a little. There was a decided <em>spring</em> to your step when you left the bookshop earlier, and now I can see why,” He nods his head, then quick as anything, tugs the book from Jihoon's tired fingers. </p><p>Jihoon doesn't fight him for the book, but his expression is defiant as he watches Seungcheol examine the cover with much amusement.</p><p>“Lepidopterology around the World—how <em>enthralling</em>.” Seungcheol drawls, a faint smile twitching at one corner of his mouth.</p><p>There's nothing cruel in his smirk, nothing deliberately taunting, but Jihoon's oversensitive pride pricks anyway.</p><p>“It’s about butterflies,” He grumbles, “I study them.”</p><p>“Really? Well, you must let me know how it goes. I may wish to borrow it.” Seungcheol counters, warm with amusement, and deliberately oblivious to the ruffling of Jihoon's ire.</p><p>Levelling him sour look, Jihoon snatches his book back, pays the bemused baker for the pie and walks out without another word.</p><p>If he were less exhausted, he probably wouldn't rankle so easily, but his back aches from being jostled in the carriage all day and his head is throbbing fiercely, so he makes no effort to mask his irritation as he storms down the street.</p><p>He expects and hopes that Seungcheol is not following him, but it’s not long before the man and his damnably long legs are matching his quick stride with languorous ease.   </p><p>“What do I have to do for you to leave Weerus Manor?” Seungcheol drawls thickly, as if he were continuing a conversation already in progress, “You must realise by now your Uncle will never be fit to travel again, so I can’t understand why you linger. Perhaps you think your charitable actions will encourage him to bequeath you a small portion of his estate in his will, and if that is the case, please allow me to disabuse you of the notion. I have it on good authority your Uncle is penniless, and when I redeem my Vowels, which I assure you <em>I will</em>, there will not be a single blade of grass on that estate for you to claim.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s chuckling as he says it, so maybe he doesn’t really mean it. But Jihoon’s blood boils anyway, and he finds himself stopping in his tracks and twisting to face him.  </p><p>“I am well aware of my Uncle’s financial situation Mr Choi,” He spits, poking Seungcheol in the chest with his index finger. “I remain because I <em>wish</em> too, because I have a duty to a beloved Uncle to ensure he is comforted by those he holds dear in his last days. I do not expect compensation for my efforts, and I have never held any aspirations for his wealth.”</p><p>Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him a little, assessing the truth in that. A moment later, his crop comes to rest with its tapered end nearly against the tip of Jihoon's nose.</p><p>“I am tempted to believe that Mr Lee, but I am well aware that the fourth son of an Earl is a sorry birth right indeed. With little hope of inheritance, you must find your way in the world somehow. And since I have already deduced you have no interest in women, what better way to secure your future than to skirt on the coattails of a kindly, barren <em>Uncle</em>.”</p><p>“That is a lie!” Jihoon snaps, glaring fixedly at Seungcheol down the length of the crop.</p><p>Seungcheol stares challengingly back. “Oh yeah, which part? That you’re mooching of your Uncle or that you have no interest in women?”</p><p>He grins then, all teeth, and the flex of his jaw absolutely does not make Jihoon want to push him against the wall and tongue his jugular.</p><p>“All of it…it’s all..it’s all lies.” Jihoon says, flustered when he realizes where his thoughts have gone. “Do not speak of my character as if you know me. You know nothing about me Mr Choi.”</p><p>Seungcheol leans in, lowers his voice even more, “I know you better than you think Mr Lee.” Then with a tilt of his hat he strolls away.  </p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon has a terribly vivid dream that night. Then every night for an entire <em>week</em> after.</p><p>No, no—not a dream, but a nightmare.</p><p>A terrible, awful nightmare, where he finds himself as some large banquet, flanked by nameless, faceless guests, who are all poking fun at his love of Lepidopterology. Just as Jihoon is preparing to storm out in a huff, Seungcheol bursts through the doors and accuses him of being naughty. Then with that wicked gleam in his eyes that Jihoon knows so well, Seungcheol bends him over his knee and proceeds to <em>spank</em> him with his black leather riding crop.</p><p>Right there, in front of all the guests.</p><p>Needless to say, it’s a very distressing experience, even to Jihoon’s sleep addled brain—especially when said brain insists on dreaming him with less and less clothing as the days go by, until he is spread across Seungcheol lap entirely <em>naked</em>.</p><p>Which is just….terribly shocking and inappropriate all round. Truly. All the more shocking when Jihoon awakes in a dazed flush, and finds a lot of damming evidence in his bed that suggests he rather <em>enjoyed</em> the nightmare.  </p><p>“Oh lord, what’s wrong with me?”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>On Sunday, Jihoon is seated at the dining room table, thumbing through mountains of correspondence when Mr Kim comes blasting into the room like the wind whistling through an open window. He stops cold at the sight of Jihoon at the head of the table, calmly eating toast as he looks over the post.</p><p>“Master Lee—you must see this. I do not trust my own eyes.”</p><p>“If its Uncle Weerus swanning about the corridors naked again, just leave him be. He will return to his chambers soon enough and nothing I say will hasten him.” Jihoon replies, waving him away.</p><p>Shaking his head, Mr Kim bounds over, waving a letter in his hand. He looks more animated than Jihoon’s ever seen him, so it’s unlikely to be bad news.</p><p>“No, it’s this letter. This letter I have just read—it offers a solution to all our problems.”</p><p>“Really? Is it offering to pay off all of Uncle Weerus’ creditors?” Jihoon says dryly.</p><p>“Yes, indeed it is.” Mr Kim bobs his head emphatically, “It is from one of your Uncle’s old travelling companions, Mr McFartface. He says he is shocked and saddened to hear of your Uncle’s poor health, and is offering to cover the entire sum of the debt owed to Mr Choi. There are some details that pertain to you as well, and—” Mr Kim hesitates, offering Jihoon the letter. “Here, I will let you see for yourself.”</p><p>The handwriting is bold and scraggly—very poor penmanship—Jihoon notes absently as he unfolds the letter and begins to read.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Weerus Old Chum, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dreadful business this whole Choi mess you’ve gotten yourself into. But fear not, I have already spoken to my man in the city, and funds have been released that should clear your debts within the week. I am sure you won’t mind, but I also took the liberty of writing to that scoundrel Mr Choi, and told him where to go too. Serves the menace right I say. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now chin up and get well soon. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your old travelling chum, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Farty McFartface </em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.S. I heard that sprightly nephew of yours is loitering about and getting underfoot—so I have arranged for him to go butterfly watching across the continent. All expenses paid. The ship sails from pier 12 at the South City harbour on Thursday night, so make sure he gets there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.P.S. By nephew I meant that Lee Jihoon chap, the small one that prances about.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Jihoon reads the letter twice. Then reads it again, just to be sure, before letting the paper drop onto the desk. It almost seems too perfect an arrangement to be true; he doesn't trust good fortune as a general rule, but something about <em>this</em> particular reverse in fortunes is making his shoulders itch.</p><p>“I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I have a very strange inkling that this letter is not genuine.” He says, after a moment of quiet contemplation.</p><p>Mr Kim raises a brow. Lips set in a thoughtful frown. Not before nodding slowly. </p><p>“Yes—I <em>did</em> have my suspicions when I first read it. The diction used is quite unusual, and I couldn’t honestly recall your Uncle having any friends named Farty McFartface. But he did meet some very peculiar people on his travels, and when I saw Mr Choi out riding a short time ago, I went out to discuss it with him and he confirmed that he has indeed received the payment and the debt is settled.”</p><p>Jihoon bites his tongue and stares down at the letter again.</p><p>It just….it seems too good to be <em>true</em>.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon ventures out to the folly the next day, to think things through.</p><p>The impossibly fortuitous, yet suspicious timing of the letter weighs on him. Certainly, it is a blessing that Uncle’s Weerus’ debts have been cleared, and the relief that he can keep a roof over his head should go a long way in offering him some comfort. But as for the matter of the proposed trip—Jihoon feels torn.  </p><p>Three months ago, he would've been delighted to have such an invitation, a chance to fulfil his childhood dream and travel around the world. But now Jihoon is not certain he can depart when his Uncle is still so unwell, and when only Mr Kim and Mrs Bigbottom remain to care for him. Compounding that concern are further issues he feels foolish not to have anticipated earlier; a house as large as Weerus Manor cannot survive without a regular income, and with no properties left to mortgage, one way or another, Uncle Weerus <em>will</em> be forced to sell and move to a smaller home. A move, Jihoon accepts, that will need to happen sooner rather than later, before the Manor falls into further disrepair.</p><p>“I can’t help but notice that you’re still here.” Seungcheol’s familiar rumble breaks into his thoughts.</p><p>“And I can’t help but notice that you still persist on following me everywhere I go.” Jihoon huffs, turning his head to arch a single meaningful eyebrow at the man on horseback behind him. “Don’t you have any <em>hobbies</em> you can partake in?”</p><p>The corner of Seungcheol’s mouth lifts in a crooked smile, “This <em>is</em> my hobby.”</p><p>“Oh really? Lurking in the shadows. Throwing daggers at men’s throats. Slipping <em>brooches</em> into unsuspecting people’s pockets.” Jihoon snorts, “Some hobby.”</p><p>Seungcheol doesn't even try to deny any of it.</p><p>“Call it what you like. In my line of work, I prefer to call it <em>vigilance</em>.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Jihoon slips of the wall and heads for the path back to the house through the woods, intent on avoiding an unpleasant conversation. Only for Seungcheol to wheel his horse around and follow, trotting behind him at a leisurely pace.</p><p>Jihoon frowns a bit and picks up his pace.</p><p>He knows had it been anyone else he following him around so patiently, he might have been flattered and appreciative of their concern—but Seungcheol has a way of making him feel like a child sometimes. One who needs constant supervision, lest he throw himself down a <em>well</em>.</p><p>Honestly, why the man thinks Jihoon likes to <em>endanger</em> himself Jihoon will never know, but this foolishness stops here.</p><p>Arms crossed, Jihoon turns on his heels to stare defiantly at Seungcheol, who gives him a bemused glance before slowing his horse.</p><p>“Can’t you take a hint Mr Choi? I do not <em>care</em> for your company.”</p><p>“Well, you have it anyway. These woods are do dense and dark for you to wonder them alone.” Seungcheol says gravely, but Jihoon can tell he's distracted, trying to figure out how to steer the conversation where he really wants it to go. Finally, he just comes out with it, his voice softening, “How is your <em>Uncle</em> these days?”</p><p>Jihoon’s expression clamps shut, never quite sure where politeness stops and sincerity begins with Mr Choi, even after the weeks of the same song and dance.</p><p>He turns back towards the path, but now with a leisurely pace, “I <em>would</em> answer you honestly Mr Choi, except I know you do not truly care for the answer. Now that your debts have been paid, you have no claim on my Uncle’s property and the status of his health is inconsequential.”</p><p>Snorting out loud, Seungcheol turns the horse, setting him trotting before speaking again.</p><p>“You’re right. I <em>don’t</em> care. But you are delightfully fun to tease, and I must admit, I will miss our conversations and your prancing about when you depart for your ….butterfly watching is it? When <em>is</em> that exactly?”</p><p>Jihoon hesitates, twisting mid-stride to face Seungcheol again.</p><p>Now that he’s looking for it, there’s definitely something different about Mr Choi today. The bluster and humour sit thinner on his face than usual, and there's tension beneath the wide smile, strain in the too-sharp flash of teeth.</p><p>He’s acting suspiciously enough to, well—<em>warrant suspicion.</em></p><p>“And how would <em>you</em> know about my trip? Hmm, Mr Choi?”</p><p>“I can’t honestly recall how I came upon the information.” Seungcheol says, his tone deceptively matter-of-fact. “But it certainly piqued my interest. Travelling across the world butterfly watching sounds like quite the adventure. A once in a lifetime opportunity, some might say.”</p><p>“Yes, I suppose it is.” Jihoon sighs wistfully.</p><p>Staring up at the house through the trees, he finds himself lost in thought, caught between hope and frustration.</p><p>“Then I expect you will be leaving soon….to catch the easterly winds and reach your destination in favourable weather.” Seungcheol offers casually, drawing Jihoon back into the conversation. When Jihoon glances back at him, there’s a mismatch to the expression in his eyes that is hard and urgent.</p><p>“My ship leaves on Thursday,” Jihoon finds himself smiling, but it fades as he speaks again. “But I have decided not to go.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s eyebrows reached for his hairline in a manner so theatrical it would have been funny had the topic been anything else. “Sorry, what? You’re not going?”</p><p>Jihoon nods, turning his head to better see him. “Uncle Weerus’ health has deteriorated considerably in the last week. He sleeps for most of the day now, and Mr Kim thinks he has not long left. I cannot leave him alone now to go travelling around the globe, regardless of how valuable an opportunity.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s face darkens at his words, and in a matter of seconds he is dismounting from his horse and quickly closing in on Jihoon, grabbing a hold of his arm with some force.</p><p>“What are you…unhand me you brute.” Jihoon snaps as he is spun around and pinned against a tree.</p><p>Seungcheol tightens his grip just enough that Jihoon is aware of his full strength, of the fact that Seungcheol could lift him bodily from the ground, or throw him over his shoulder with ease. There is bruising strength in those hands, though Seungcheol lets go almost the same instant. Another moment, and he takes a halting step back and looks away, hands clenched at his sides as if he is just barely reigning himself in.</p><p>He speaks without looking at Jihoon. “I have tried to be patient and considering of your circumstances Jihoon, but I cannot let this continue. You <em>must</em> leave today—you must. It is not safe for you here.”</p><p>A helpless yelp of laughter escapes Jihoon then. “I will do no such thing, and I refuse to be threatened. My uncle’s debts have been paid and you cannot—”</p><p>“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Seungcheol stops him from leaving by shoving him against the tree again. Jihoon gets the impression he would have used stronger language but he is trying to restrain himself. “Don’t you get it? This is <em>not</em> about your Uncle’s debts. I have no regard for his money or anyone else’s. This is for your own safety, I beg you Jihoon—please leave. You have no idea what you are dealing with.”</p><p>Strong hands are on Jihoon’s shoulders now, clutching them tightly, and Jihoon brings his own hands up, laying them on Seungcheol’s and forcing them to loosen.</p><p>“What are you talking about?” He murmurs, breaking into his tension. “What am I <em>dealing</em> with exactly?”</p><p>Seungcheol's mouth snaps shut and his jaw clenches, throat working in a hard swallow above the edge of his cravat. His cheeks, already bright, colour in a way Jihoon can't decipher. For a moment, Seungcheol is genuinely and uncharacteristically silent.</p><p>When he speaks, it's with renewed determination. </p><p>“I <em>wish</em> I could explain it to you, I really do, but I am bound to secrecy, and even if I were not, I fear your mind will not be able to comprehend such an explanation. But please believe me when I say your life is in danger, and every cruel act you think me guilty of has only been my attempt to prevent you harm.”</p><p>Jihoon scarcely knows what to say. Part of him desperately wants to believe that Seungcheol is capable of caring for something beyond himself, but with no explanation and nothing but the man’s word to go on, he can’t help but think him merely a chancer who will say anything to get what he wants. It doesn't <em>seem</em> like Seungcheol has ulterior motives, but then, they still barely know each other. Seungcheol has no reason to be helpful, and Jihoon is uncomfortably aware of the fact that he might not be able to spot a lie, especially not one coming from Seungcheol.</p><p>He watches Seungcheol an extra heartbeat, weighing the danger, doing his best to ignore the itch of just how distracting it is to have Seungcheol so close. At last he steps aside, shaking his head ruefully, “I want to believe you have good intentions Mr Choi, but nothing in the way you have conducted yourself so far allows me to.”</p><p>Falling a step back, Seungcheol’s mouth opens and closes several times, looking for all the world like one of the giant koi in the fish pond in the garden. Whatever he’s working up the nerve to say, Jihoon does not wait to hear it.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>When Jihoon retires to bed that evening, he is tired, and weary beyond all measure. His shoulders ache where Seungcheol had held him, and he wonders if he’ll be able to sleep at all tonight. Between his discomfort, the choices he has to make and the cryptic warning Seungcheol gave him, sleep is a fickle thing, flirting with him one minute and evading him the next.</p><p>He does manage to drift off eventually, only to wake several hours later with a flinch.</p><p>Jumping up in bed, Jihoon strains his ears to catch whatever it was that had woken him.</p><p>The bedroom is quiet all around him; only the hiss of the rain outside and the distant ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs reaches his ears.</p><p>He stays still.</p><p>Very still.</p><p>A draft creeps in somewhere, and nearby the curtains puff up and snap briefly taut in a nautical billowing, caught in at the waist by their sashes, then exhale the wind and settle. In their wake, dim shadows and light bar the walls, a pattern created by the moonlight outside.</p><p>Jihoon stares and takes it all in, keeping his breathing light, trying to ignore his pulse, which beats hard and quick at his temples.</p><p>There’s nothing to see. All is silent.</p><p>It’s possible that he’d merely dreamt the noise—the scream that had pulled him out of sleep, the inhuman sound that cut through the night—but every hair on the back of his neck is standing at attention and that, surely, warrants further investigation.   </p><p>Climbing out of his bed on shaky legs, Jihoon pulls on his dressing gown and unlocks the door, easing himself out into the hall in his bare feet. He knows these halls like the back of his hand, and even in the near dark he is able to navigate the corridors with ease. But as he turns the last corner, he is surprised to find he is not the only person that has awoken.</p><p>Mr Kim hovers in the open doorway of his room, holding a small candle aloft, the glow of which casts a soft spotlight around where he stands in his nightshirt, his feet hastily shoved into short boots.</p><p>“Mr Kim? Did you hear that too?” Jihoon whispers, padding forward quietly.</p><p>Mr Kim hesitates before he speaks. “Yes, it woke me. I think…I think it came from the West wing, from the cook’s quarters.”</p><p>Brow furrowing, Jihoon cranes his neck upwards to listen for any noise that signals distress. Normally the cook’s quarters are far enough away from the lower rooms that sound shouldn’t have carried below; whatever is going on in the middle of the night is a crisis indeed. </p><p>Somehow, they are both walking toward the staircase together, without any discussion as to whether they should.</p><p>Mr Kim mutters quietly under his breath along the way; it sounds suspiciously like the Lord’s Prayer, and Jihoon wonders for a moment what he expects to find. That thought is arrested when they cross over to the west wing and see Mrs Bigbottom’s bedroom door sitting wide open—an unexpected find though she is the sole occupant of the corridor.  </p><p>Inside, the drapes over the window have been pulled back, and moonlight streams through the glass, bathing the room in a stark, white light.</p><p>For a moment, all Jihoon can make out is a pale, ghostly form of Uncle Weerus crouching on the bed. Eating something. Then his eyes adjust, and he sees Mrs Bigbottom beneath him, sees how she’s staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide and terrified, sees how she’s split open down the middle and still bleeding, the blood just pouring out of her like oil.</p><p>Jihoon can’t draw breath, can’t move as he <em>stares</em>.</p><p>He fights the dizziness that threatens to pull him under, even as Uncle Weerus leans in and <em>rears</em> his head back, tearing out a chunk of flesh between his teeth with a horrifying sound.</p><p>As Mr Kim presses in behind Jihoon with the candle, Uncle Weerus jerks upright and swings his head towards them, eyes wide.</p><p>In the flicking light of the candle, he looks more demonic than human with his face smeared with blood. And when he smiles at them, it’s the smile of an evil so old, so ruthless and so mocking, that Satan himself would have been frightened.</p><p>Jihoon gasps, nearly guttering the candle almost at the same moment he feels Mr Kim’s fingers dig into his arm painfully.</p><p>“Jihoon,” he hisses, “<em>Run</em>.”</p><p>Jihoon does.</p><p>This time, he doesn’t hesitate.</p><p>Twisting away from the bed, he sprints right out of the room, feet sleeping on the slick redness that he hadn’t noticed splashed all over the floor. He runs down the corridor and barrels down the first staircase he finds, doesn’t listen for the sound of Mr Kim following him; doesn’t want to know if he’s being followed. Adrenaline and survival instinct has kicked in, and he can do nothing but move as fast as his feet will allow.  </p><p>Distantly, he’s aware of someone behind him, can see something move in the corner of his eye. But the accompanying sounds seem to float right past his ears. He’s so scared he can’t hear himself breathing—can’t even hear the sound of his own <em>heartbeat</em>.</p><p>When he takes the final turn on the stairs, he catches a blur of motion at the top of the staircase, twists his head in time to see Mr Kim topple over a bookcase, attempting to slow down the pale, disembodied torso moving toward him in the darkness.</p><p><em>I should help him</em>—Jihoon thinks. But the front door is straight ahead, and if they have any hope of getting out of here, he needs to get there first and unbolt it.</p><p>Pushing through the front door is like breaking the surface of water, and all his senses seems to rush back into the world at once; the sound of his gasping breaths, the feel of the wind hissing through the overgrown grass, the bright flash of lightning in the distance.</p><p>The front steps are blessedly cool under his heated feet, but Jihoon refuses to stop there. He bolts down them and across the front lawn, over the damp grass.</p><p>The sharp clack of the front door slamming shut has him startling, stumbling on his feet and kissing the dirt, splitting his lower lip against his teeth with the force of the impact. He tastes copper, then iron, but quickly rolls over, forcing himself to sit up, frightful of what he’ll see emerging from the Manor behind him.  </p><p>Mr Kim is there, standing at the closed door—<em>holding</em> it closed by all appearances. Whatever is on the other side is putting up quite the fight; even across the lawn Jihoon can see the door shuddering, creaking with the force of whatever’s trying to pry it open again.</p><p>“Go Jihoon!” Mr Kim calls out, voice frantic, panicked. “I’ll hold him off, you must keep run—"</p><p>His last words cut off into a scream as the door swings in, yanking him into the darkness of the house.</p><p>Jihoon scrambles up, struggling with his damp dressing gown, hearing them hem tear and not giving a damn as he begins to run again. There’s blood running down his chin, and his bare feet sting as he crunches over the gravel, snagging in the long grasses—but he never stops, never slows, never looks down as sprints across the path and into the woods.</p><p>There’s no telling how long he runs.</p><p>It could be a minute, could be thirty. It could be forever, each stride taken with the surety that he’ll collide with something horrific at any moment, that he’ll end up cornered somewhere like a rat in a maze.</p><p>Then, unexpectedly, he sees a light ahead, and relief brings him to his knees.</p><p>There's someone walking through the woods up ahead. A man in a dark overcoat, carrying a lantern. A dark hat covers the man's face, but somehow Jihoon recognizes the figure anyway.</p><p>"Cheol," he breathes, squeezing a lifetime of hope into that one syllable.</p><p>He scrambles forward, pushing through the thick hedges between them, reaching a hand out as the lantern swings towards him again, wincing as light falls over his muddied face.</p><p>Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut when he hears the click of a hunting rifle, feels the cold metal of the barrel as it’s pressed against his forehead. But the sound of gunfire never comes—only the feel of a gloved hand curling around his bicep, a strong hand reaching through the hedge to drag him out.  </p><p>“Jesus Christ, Jihoon—I nearly shot you. What the hell are you—”</p><p>Jihoon cuts him off by crawling straight into his arms.</p><p>Maybe he’ll be embarrassed about this later, but at the moment he couldn’t care less about propriety. Seungcheol’s enough of a gentleman not to question it either. He merely catches him, steadies him, draws him close, and the rush of his scent along with his warmth drives a sob from Jihoon’s body.</p><p>He clings tightly, pressing his face into the bend of Seungcheol’s neck and spends long seconds trying to regulate his too-fast breathing against the damp fabric of Seungcheol’s jacket as Seungcheol’s fingers stroke down his back.</p><p>“It’s alright petal, I have you. You’re safe.”</p><p>All these things are finally too much, and Jihoon feels his legs give out beneath him an instant before darkness creeps across his vision and the physical world fades.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon awakes, groggy and slow, in a bed far warmer and more comfortable than the ground he remembers last. He doesn't feel <em>good</em>, exactly. His head hurts, his mouth is dry, his throat painfully parched. But he is warm. And safe. And he has an indistinct recollection of reaching the edge of the woods at the end of his desperate journey.</p><p>Proper sunlight creeps through the open window when he blinks his eyes open, and when he stares up at the ceiling, he finds a giant crucifix painted there. There’s another sitting on the bedside table when he turns his head, and another three hanging on the wall.</p><p>In fact, there’s blasted crucifixes everywhere he looks, carved into the chairs and hanging off the bedposts. Even the pillows have little crosses embroidered on them, like perhaps someone was fond of the ecclesiastical look, and didn’t know when to stop.</p><p>And if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, when Jihoon finally pushes himself up onto his elbows, he finds Seungcheol sitting on a chair in the corner, watching him with a relentless focus that makes him blink.   </p><p>“Oh, uhm….<em>hello</em>.”</p><p>Seungcheol doesn’t answer, but his heavy brow furrows deeper as he raises his arms and points a—</p><p>Oh no!</p><p>Sitting upright, Jihoon forces himself to stay calm. “Is that a <em>crossbow</em>?”</p><p>Seungcheol twists his face into a thunderous expression. “Yes, it is. Now—if you are indeed Lee Jihoon, say something only <em>Jihoon</em> would—”</p><p>“I don’t think you should be totting that around in here Mr Choi.” Jihoon interjects, eyeing the crossbow uneasily. “I appreciate that this is your home, and as a bachelor you are accustomed to certain <em>liberties</em>—but that doesn’t excuse the fact that it’s very unsafe to wield such a weapon indoors. Not to mention, very <em>rude</em> when you point it at your guests.”</p><p>Almost immediately Seungcheol sighs heavily, and with audible relief, posture slouching as though he has been sitting stiffly in that chair for a very long time.</p><p>“Thank God—it <em>is</em> you.” He laughs, “Only you could manage to sound so ungrateful after I saved your ass—"</p><p>“And where are my <em>clothes</em>?” Jihoon frowns in disapproval when he notices them missing. “Did you undress me as I slept you…you..<em>deviant man</em>!”</p><p>Oddly, Seungcheol smiles at that, with a kind of subdued, glittering indulgence that speaks of a deep fondness. “Yes, I did. But you have my word that’s the <em>only</em> liberty I took.”</p><p>Huffing unhappily, Jihoon gathers the sheets around him until he is well cocooned against the headboard.</p><p>After a moment of quiet sulking, he realises he’s being extremely ungrateful, and perhaps a tad too defamatory about Mr Choi’s behaviour towards him. The man has given him refuge after all, and kindly vacated his warm bed so Jihoon could rest. And from the mild tingling sensation Jihoon can feel over his bottom lip, he’s even gone so far as to clean the wound and apply some sort of healing salve.</p><p>Which is….</p><p>It’s very <em>nice</em> of him.</p><p>The least thing Jihoon can do is show some gratitude.</p><p>“I apologise for calling you a deviant man,” Jihoon murmurs sheepishly, twisting the corner of a sheet in his hands. “That was..that was unfair. You were very kind to bring me in last night. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.”</p><p>Seungcheol gives him a look that is at once exasperated and humouring. “Don’t worry about it Jihoon, it’s fine.” He barely pauses before adding, soft and cautious, “<em>But</em> while we’re on the topic, do you want to tell me what <em>happened</em> last night?”</p><p>In all honesty, Jihoon would rather <em>not</em> discuss the events of last night, and quickly searches the room for a distraction.</p><p>“I see you’re quite the collector of crucifixes.” He blurts out, casting his gaze over the room. “That’s a little unexpected. Not that there’s anything <em>wrong</em> will collecting crucifixes of course, I just can’t recall seeing you at any of the Sunday services. And oh, please do not feel like I’m passing judgement on you when I say that—I would never pass judgement on anyone over their religious preferences. I was merely making an observation. I have always said people are allowed to believe in whatever they want, whether it be a higher power or nothing at all. I personally am not a very devout man myself—I only attend Sunday service out of habit and to keep up appearances. I just never expected <em>you</em> to be the devout sort who had an entire <em>crucifix room</em> in their house is all.”</p><p>Seungcheol lifts an eyebrow, twisting his mouth as though he’s bitten into something sour. “I’m <em>not</em> a religious man. These were merely a….<em>precautionary</em> measure. Now, can you tell me what happ—"</p><p>“I’m a bit of a collector myself actually.” Jihoon prattles on nervously. “I collect butterflies. Not live ones of course, though I have always dreamed of owning a large beautiful garden where I can study them in my leisure. They’re marvellous creatures, butterflies. Do—do <em>you</em> like them?”</p><p>Setting the crossbow down with a dispirited air, Seungcheol rises to his feet. He crosses the room in two strides to take a seat on the edge of the bed, pausing only a moment before he takes hold of Jihoon’s trembling hands in his own.   </p><p>“Beautiful, harmless, fluttering here and there, oblivious to the world around them—yes, I certainly see the appeal. Now that we are in agreement, little butterfly, would you be so kind as to tell me what you saw?”</p><p>Jihoon casts his eyes about the room anxiously, looking for something, <em>anything</em>, to distract his mind and hopefully Seungcheol from the ensuing conversation. Eventually, he accepts there’s no delaying what must be said.</p><p>“I would tell you, but I fear you will think me mad.” He admits, staring helplessly into Seungcheol’s eyes. </p><p>Seungcheol shakes his head, giving Jihoon’s hand a little squeeze, “I can promise you, I will not. Please, speak freely.”</p><p>Jihoon swallows, trying not to let his rising gorge spill over as memories flare in his head.</p><p>He spends a moment corralling his reactions and measuring his response, and when he trusts himself to remain calm he says, “It’s Uncle Weerus. I saw him …<em>eating</em> Mrs Bigbottom.”</p><p>If any of that seems peculiar to Seungcheol, he gives no indication of it—he merely narrows his eyes slowly and says, “Mrs…Big-<em>bottom</em>?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, yes—she’s the cook at Weerus Manor. And a splendid one at that. She has a very adventurous palate and can concoct the finest of meals out of the barest of ingredients. She once prepared for me the finest barberry glace I have ever tasted. It’s an old family recipe apparently, handed down from her great, great, great uncle, who was a chef for the French Aristocracy. You must come for dinner some time and try it. That is of course, if she’s still alive.”</p><p>“Are you always this talkative in bed?” Seungcheol observes airily.</p><p>Jihoon presses a hand to his mouth with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I talk a lot when I’m scared. And when I’m anxious. Pretty much most of the time actually. My parents despaired endlessly of it when I was a child.”</p><p>Seungcheol darts forward to capture his hand again, holding it tightly, “It’s okay Jihoon, I’m not complaining. And you have every right to be scared, but I assure you I will not let any harm come to you.” He says in a soft, weirdly polite tone that Jihoon barely recognizes.</p><p>For a moment he says nothing more, and the aching silence swirls around them both. Jihoon feels slightly dizzy, glad of the warmth of the sun on his face.</p><p>Everything seems so distant, and yet . . .</p><p>Another memory flashes in Jihoon thoughts, against his will. The memory of Mr Kim’s face, yelling at him to run.</p><p>“Mr Kim,” Jihoon croaks through a pang of guilt, “He was with me. We happened upon the scene together, and he was right behind me as we fled the house. He stayed behind to hold the door shut, but before I fled into the woods, I saw something drag him in. I was too scared to go back for him, has there been any—”</p><p>Seungcheol cuts his off with a grave shake of his head.</p><p>“I’m sorry Jihoon, it’s too late for him.”</p><p>Dread cinches tight around Jihoon's heart, and his jaw clenches. </p><p>“Too late? Wh-what do you <em>mean</em>, too late?” he rasps quietly. His mouth feels dry. “He…he probably just went back to check on my Uncle, maybe talk some sense into him. Mr Kim is a good man, his loyalty knows no bounds. I’ve known him since I was a child, I—”</p><p>“Jihoon—” Seungcheol says firmly, touching his shoulder as he speaks. “You’re in shock, I know the feeling. But you need to understand this—if Mr Kim remained behind, there’s nothing we can do for him now. He’s dead.”</p><p>Jihoon swallows past the lump in his throat. “How can you be so sure? And how can you be so calm when you <em>speak</em> of such things?”</p><p>Seungcheol’s lips thin. He looks at Jihoon and then up to the heavens as if considering some terrible truth. Then he stands to his feet and says, “I have drawn you a bath, and there are some spare clothes in the wardrobe. Once you get cleaned up, come downstairs and we’ll… <em>talk</em>.”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon isn’t able to find a single item of clothing of Seungcheol’s that fits without proper tailoring, so he’s forced to come downstairs in a rather long dress shirt he finds in the back of the wardrobe, a wispy white silk affair that makes him feel astonishingly <em>indecent</em>.</p><p>Seungcheol must share the sentiment, because he shoots Jihoon a rather goggling glance when he pads barefoot into the study and immediately knocks back a snifter of brandy.</p><p>Jihoon isn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Perhaps Seungcheol expected him to at least pull some britches on, or even attempt to don his dressing gown again. But it had been so wet and caked in mud, it was hopeless to try and salvage it once he’d gotten cleaned up.</p><p>“Here, you’re probably going to need one too.” Seungcheol says, refilling the glass and pushing it into Jihoon’s hands.</p><p>Jihoon accepts the glass with a small frown, but gamely takes a sip and finds it more robust and mellow than any he’d ever had before, and oddly bracing as well. A bit like Seungcheol.</p><p>Seungcheol’s <em>reasoning</em> for the brandy however, becomes evident when he leads him down a short flight of steps into the cellar and—</p><p>“Oh—god!”</p><p>It’s like they’ve stepped out of the Dowager house into a little den of antiquities. But instead of a charming collection of coins and fossils, every flat surface is lined with the unspeakable horrors of the <em>macabre.</em></p><p>An array of artillery dominates three of the four walls—displaying everything from rifles and pistols, to swords and daggers, and even a set of Shuriken. There’s an entire shelf of mason jars in one corner, filled with unsightly creatures and peculiar body parts, suspended in a vitreous green slime. And front and centre, is a whole human head—with grotesque bulging eyes, pinprick pupils and a pair of very sharp, very pointy teeth.</p><p>A wave of nausea threatens to crest the longer Jihoon stares at it, so he quickly glances away.</p><p>“Before you say anything—I just wanted you to know he deserved it.” Seungcheol speaks up, from where he’s taken position at the base of the stairs.</p><p>He hasn’t moved an inch since Jihoon began snooping around, as though Jihoon's a small frightened animal who could be easily spooked. Though there’s more than the usual stiffness to his shoulders, and the tic in his cheek tells Jihoon he’s not so comfortable with the events unfolding himself.</p><p>Raising his glass for a much needed sip, Jihoon is surprised to find it empty. But Seungcheol is quick to step forward with the decanter and fill it once again.</p><p>“Is <em>this</em> what you were bound to secrecy and could not explain to me?” Jihoon asks, sparing him a glance.  </p><p>Seungcheol’s movements are stiff as he sets the decanter down, “Yes.”</p><p>The silence stretches uncomfortably between them, and Jihoon raises his glass for another slow sip. He can feel Seungcheol watching every movement, but he takes his time. Patient. Collecting his thoughts and deciding the best strategy for moving forward.</p><p>“Then why, may I ask, have you chosen to share it <em>now</em>?”</p><p>Something that is two parts confusion and one part guilt skitters across Seungcheol face like a startled insect. “Because I can see you are trying to make sense of your harrowing ordeal, searching for something in your scientific books and conventional wisdom that will explain what you saw. You won’t find it. But perhaps something in <em>these</em> texts will offer you some clarity and comfort in assuring you that you have not gone mad.” He says, nodding at the pile of ragged journals on the desk.</p><p>Jihoon considers the offer, and honestly can't see any danger in it.</p><p>Unlike the contents of the mason jars, the journals appear to be perfectly normal. Looking at them doesn't raise Jihoon's hackles or make the nape of his neck tingle with warning. They look like perfectly ordinary paper and hide, bound shut with leather bands and piled carefully at the edge of the desk.</p><p>"Go ahead," Seungcheol says, even though Jihoon is already reaching for one and holding it open against the flat of his palm.   </p><p>The text is in Latin, detailing some nonsense about the capture and subsequent execution of some monstrous man that was devouring children in a small town in Bulgaria. He was captured by the townspeople and sentenced to death, only to resurrect as a monstrous creature with the head of a goat. The killings increased in numbers, their brutality intensified, until a mysterious man arrived to eliminate the threat, and left with the demon goat’s head.</p><p>It’s a very good, very grizzly bedtime story in Jihoon’s opinion—one that would teach children not to trust strangers and to return home before dark. He very much doubts there’s any integrity to it, until he studies the binding and determines the book originates from the <em>Vatican Library</em>.  </p><p>Right. Well.</p><p>In that case….Jihoon’s never going to go near another goat again.</p><p>Beside him, Seungcheol is uncharacteristically quiet. Unwilling patience as he waits for Jihoon to finish.</p><p>“I must admit, they make quite a <em>compelling</em> case,” Jihoon says at last, turning the page he had been reading, “Do they belong to you?”</p><p>Seungcheol’s gaze meets Jihoon’s with obvious reluctance, “Yes—they were handed down to me. From my father, and from his father before him. I come from a long line of—” He hesitates, dropping his eyes to the journal again, “<em>Hunters</em> is the best way to explain it I suppose.”</p><p>It takes Jihoon a minute to parse that.</p><p>“<em>Hunters</em>. That explains the impressive array of weaponry you have here.”</p><p>The first hint of a smile twists the corner of Seungcheol’s mouth. “Would you believe me if I told you most of these weapons are quite useless?”</p><p>“<em>Really</em>?” Jihoon gawps. “Even that ball chain <em>thingy</em> over there? That looks like it could cause quite a bit of damage.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s smiling good and proper now, “I am not a hunter in the conventional sense Jihoon. The game I <em>hunt</em> is of a more…peculiar nature. I hunt beasts, phantoms, ghouls—creatures that have no business existing in the mortal realm, and often a mortal weapon is not sufficient to destroy them alone. Usually I require a ritual or a charm or perhaps even <em>time</em> to study the creature and determine its weaknesses. If it were simpler, you can rest assure I would have paid your Uncle a visit a <em>long</em> time ago.”</p><p>Jihoon blinks, tilts his head back so he can look Seungcheol in the eye, “So that is why you harboured such animosity towards my Uncle, because you think he’s one of these…” He won't say it, it's too absurd. He doesn't. He gestures around them, instead, at mason jars, the books, the stuffed three headed <em>dog</em> sitting in the corner.  </p><p>The tip of Seungcheol’s tongue appears between his lips and his eyes narrow. “I’m not quite sure what your uncle <em>is</em>, but I am certain that he is no longer human and poses a danger to all humanity.”</p><p>Again Jihoon considers, silent for a long moment.</p><p>“I suppose Uncle Weerus <em>has</em> been acting rather strange as of late. Eating rats and roaming the corridors naked. And he <em>was</em> chewing on Mrs Bigbottom the last I saw him.”</p><p>Seungcheol tilts it head in acknowledgement, “That <em>is</em> usually a very good sign of inhuman behaviour.”</p><p>Managing a breathless laugh, Jihoon turns to inspect the rest of the room and its contents.</p><p>There’s a cosy seating area nestled beneath the staircase at the opposite end of the room, with a small couch and a candelabra, and a large trunk that has been overturned and repurposed as a table. Jihoon moves toward the array of scrolls held open along its surface, dropping to sit cross-legged on the couch as he inspects them.</p><p>Seungcheol remains standing, but he draws close enough to peer down over his shoulder.</p><p>The centremost scroll is the most weathered of the three on display, with numerous scorch marks and a sizeable tear down the middle, as if someone had attempted to destroy it once upon a time. The writing is still legible however, and has clearly been retraced at some point, but it’s the drawing of a symbol in the centre that catches Jihoon’s attention.</p><p>
  
</p><p>It’s the very same symbol he saw etched in Uncle Weerus’ notebook, only far more detailed.</p><p>Jihoon cocks an eyebrow but doesn't take his attention off the scroll. “I recognise this. This symbol. I saw it in my uncle’s Library when I was sorting through his books. He’d sketched it a dozen or more times throughout his journal. It pertains to some artifact he was looking for on his latest trip. He sunk most of his fortune he was so obsessed with finding it.”</p><p>“It’s the Endurance Stone.” Seungcheol’s quiet words make Jihoon take another look at him. Such an expressive face. Just now his brow is furrowed, and the light in his eyes is diminished as the corners of his mouth turn down. “And your Uncle was mistaken; it’s not an artifact—it’s a <em>vessel</em>.”</p><p>Jihoon’s brow creases. “W-what do you mean?”</p><p>Seungcheol sheds his coat and drapes it across one of the chairs near the fire, rolling up his sleeves as he comes back to the couch. The man has ridiculously broad shoulders <em>and</em> nice forearms too, Jihoon decides. Perhaps, on reflection, he’s already had enough brandy.</p><p>“I don’t know the full story, or how such a simple object came to wield such power. But from what I have heard, it once belonged to the Pharaoh Menes, who feared the consequences of his own mortality. The stone allowed him to cheat death by transferring his consciousness into a new body once he grew tired of the old one. And for many centuries he travelled the globe, using the stone to bounce from host to host, outliving everyone around him. But the price of such an unnatural corruption does not come cheaply, as once a person’s soul is excised from the chosen host, the new body submits to the natural process of decay even though it appears to possess all the mannerisms  of the living. The only way to slow this progression is to <em>feed</em> of the living—”</p><p>Jihoon twitches, but Seungcheol speaks before he can ask.</p><p>“Yes, you heard me, feed. <em>Devour</em>. Wielding an object of such dark power is draining, and the bearer of the stone must continuously feed to prevent the body from deteriorating.”</p><p>Jihoon stares down at his trembling hands, thinking of his Uncle, and his rapidly disintegrating body.</p><p>From Mr Kim’s account, he had fallen quickly and inexplicably ill after his return from Romania. Even in the past month, he had aged so quickly Jihoon could hardly make sense of it.</p><p>Was he in possession of the stone all along?</p><p>Jihoon can’t remember sighting any such object in his brief visits to the man’s chambers, but then again, too many of his memories are now lost to other more fearful details.</p><p>Jihoon chews his lips, desperate to ask questions but aware that if he interrupts now, he might never get the full story. He makes a small noise, and Seungcheol draws in a deep breath, continuing.</p><p>“The first mistake your Uncle made was to assume he could cheat death. The second was to mistake the Endurance Stone for a relic capable of granting him eternal life, when it is in fact, merely a vault that houses the soul of its original owner, Menes.” Seungcheol’s voice slows, “When he found the stone and took possession of it, his own soul was excised and the being that resides in his body now, is that of the Pharaoh’s.”</p><p>Jihoon flinches again, pressing a hand to his mouth. “That is why he did not recognise me. I merely thought, Poor Uncle We-We, he has grown forgetful, as all old men often do.”</p><p>“No,” Seungcheol says, giving him a pointed look. “Whatever that creature is, it’s not your Uncle. Remember that.”</p><p>Jihoon tears his eyes from Seungcheol’s and swallows his thoughts, deciding that it’s better not to dwell on that right now.</p><p>Knowing the truth is a relief, but it's also permanent. There's no unwriting this story or hoping for a better ending, and he’ll will have to work out goodbye on his own time. He can't afford to get stuck in his own mourning when there is still considerable danger afoot.</p><p>“Wait, wait—” Jihoon shakes his head, like chasing away cobwebs, “How can such an artifact exist without any prior documentation? I have committed much of my time to the study of Ancient civilisations, and I’ve never heard of this stone or Menes till now.”</p><p>When he looks at Seungcheol again, there’s a meditative cast to the man’s face.</p><p>“There <em>is</em> some mention of Menes in the archaeological records, but as his rule is said to predate most ancient Egyptian texts, he is often mistaken with the Pharaoh <em>Narmer</em>, who is widely considered to be the first ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt. It is likely that they were the same person anyway, as with the Endurance Stone in his possession, Menes was capable of transferring his consciousness into anyone he pleased, and the body of his successor would have been a perfect choice. As for the Endurance Stone, it is said to be quite unassuming in appearance when dormant, and would have passed as a simple gemstone to the untrained eye, thus allowing it to freely circulate for many centuries without much notice. It was only in the early 16<sup>th</sup> Century that a group of Coptic Priests were able to identify it for what it was, and sealed it away with it’s decaying host in the crypts of the Densus Church in Romania.”</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> why Uncle Weerus was there.” Jihoon clicks his fingers.</p><p>He’d been waiting patiently for Seungcheol to reveal the connection. In his mind’s eye, there seemed to be no link between an Ancient Egyptian relic and his Uncle’s trip to South-eastern Europe—but the stone must have passed hands over time and made its way there. Must have laid dormant for centuries until his Uncle sought it.</p><p>Next to him, Seungcheol rises up stiffly and crosses the room to knock back another snifter of brandy. When he returns, he brings three haggard looking books with him, so old the pages have yellowed and the binding can hardly contain them. He sets them down on the trunk but does not move to open them, merely rests his hand over one as if summoning the strength to proceed.  </p><p>“These books are the only texts remaining that reference the stone. They were entrusted to me by a contact I made years ago, an ex-priest who follows the same path as I do. When he heard your Uncle was searching for the stone, he had hoped to intercept him before he could succeed. To ward him away, or even to find it first and destroy it forever. But by the time he discovered its location, it had already been found and he had to seek assistance. He contacted me as he had already stumbled across your Uncle’s path before and was certain he would be recognised. But I couldn’t just stride in and take the stone from him either, not without risking my own soul in the process—so I moved to this house to keep a close eye on him, to wait for an opportunity to present itself and <em>hopefully</em> prevent the stone from failing into the wrong hands again. Unfortunately, your Uncle’s dwindling finances meant that every tradesman in town was stopping by to reclaim their debts, and so—”</p><p>“That’s why you purchased all his debts—to stop people from visiting.” Jihoon murmurs in realization.</p><p>Seungcheol nods in agreement, his expression solemn.</p><p>“I couldn’t allow him to have more victims to devour. Every person who graced his doorway was another potential meal, and I had to stop that anyway I could. I even tried to pay off many of his staff to leave quietly in the night, but the night they were scheduled to depart, none of them arrived here to accept their payment. It was only a few days after that I realised they were missing from the household entirely—that he had been wise to my plan all along and, well, <em>ate</em> them before they could go.” He says slumping into his seat. Sighing, he rubs the centre of his forehead before looking up with a small smile, “You must think me callous not to report this to the relevant authorities—”</p><p>Jihoon laughs shortly and shakes his head. “No, I really do not.”</p><p>The thing about the picture Seungcheol is painting is, it isn't credible. A man of standing would rather roll his eyes and dismiss the notion, than consider even the <em>possibility</em> that there might be dark magic afoot.</p><p>“Likely they would not have believed you anyway. Likely they would have you locked up in some asylum for such talk.”</p><p>Seungcheol presses his lips together uncertainly, “But…<em>you</em> believe me?”</p><p>Jihoon’s desire to laugh is smothered by a sudden wave of sympathetic understanding, and he reaches out to rest a comforting hand on Seungcheol’s.  </p><p>“Of course, I do. Even had I not seen the evidence with my own two eyes, your story is too far-fetched to be anything but real. If you were trying to trick me, you would have come up with something much more believable than this.”</p><p>Seungcheol stares at him for a long moment. He looks startled and a little bit lost, and his lips part on a response he can't seem to articulate. Before Jihoon can find the words to assure him, he makes a noise, quiet and satisfied, and takes hold of his hand, squeezes it back.</p><p>Sometimes it's possible to keep a secret in yourself for so long that you reach a physical limit, a point where there's just no more room left in your muscles to hold it. Jihoon can see that in Seungcheol now, the fatigue of everyday life breaking down the barriers one by one.</p><p>It must be a relief to finally share this burden of knowledge with someone.</p><p>“So, how do you plan on …<em>killing</em> him?”  Jihoon prompts tentatively.</p><p>Seungcheol drops his head, his voice low. “In all honestly Jihoon—I do not know.”</p><p>“Well, you must at least have <em>some</em> idea.” Jihoon points out, feeling alarmed. “Unless you were planning to wait him out and hope he would starve to—oh my god, that’s what you were planning to do, wasn’t it? You were going to wait till he ran out of food.”</p><p>Seungcheol blinks several times, a hint of embarrassment in his expression. “Initially, yes. When the host body becomes sufficiently starved, Menes has no choice but to return to the stone and await a new bearer. It stood to reason that if your Uncle ran out of people to feed on, he would unearth the stone from its hiding place and do just that. It’s a risky plan, but it was the very same one the Coptic priests used to capture the stone in the first place, and it would have worked had—had <em>you</em> not shown up.”</p><p>“And why would my arrival have any bearing on the situation? Certainly I would have made a fine a meal as any other person.” Jihoon quibbles stubbornly.</p><p>Seungcheol gapes at him, as though offended by the implication. “I wasn’t going to let him eat <em>you</em>. But you would not heed my advice, and persisted on staying, so I had no choice but to—”</p><p>“Follow me everywhere I went?” Jihoon surmises. When the unease only deepens in Seungcheol's expression, he realizes, “Farty McFartface? That was <em>you</em>, wasn’t it? You were the one who drafted that ridiculous letter and paid for my trip abroad. You were….you were trying to make me leave.”</p><p>Seungcheol winces, obviously not expecting Jihoon to have made the connection so quickly. If ever at all.</p><p>“Like I said, I wasn’t going to let him hurt you.”</p><p>Gratitude sweeps over Jihoon like newly unclouded sunshine and he flounders, feeling his own cheeks heat up, “Well, I…Now that I am out of harm’s way, how do you plan on proceeding?”</p><p>A sliver of wariness sneaks into Seungcheol's expression, puts a faint crease at the very centre of his brow. Jihoon very much wants to smooth that crease away.</p><p>Instead he holds perfectly still as Seungcheol admits, “I must be frank with you Jihoon—I am rather new to all this <em>Hunter</em> business.”</p><p>“What?” Jihoon makes no effort to hide his confusion. “But what about all the artifacts, and the mason jars, and the texts—” He says, waving a hand towards the shelves and crates crammed with artifacts and books. </p><p>“All belonged to my father,” Seungcheol says, fingering the edge of a scroll, his gaze melancholy. “He…he passed away three years ago, and only confessed this part of my ancestry to me on his deathbed. I did not believe him at first—I merely thought they were the delusions of a dying man, but then I found a room in the basement of our old home, filled with these things, and following a year of self-discovery, I determined he was telling the truth.” He laughs then, a bitter little sound as he slumps back into the couch, “I don’t know why he neglected to inform me of my duty, but I suspect he thought the dangers of such creatures no longer existed. Foolish man.”</p><p>“No, that’s not—” Jihoon starts, only to stop at the uncomfortable gravel in his own voice. He hesitates. Swallows. Forces himself to keep meeting Seungcheol's eyes when he continues, “That doesn’t strike me as a careless act. It’s protective. Clearly your father did not want to plague your youth with such horrors; only someone who truly cares for you would conceal such a truth.”</p><p>Seungcheol smiles at him then. Not a smirk, not a leer. A real smile, deep dimples framing his face, his gaze warm as he stares into Jihoon’s eyes.</p><p>Jihoon’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, and he averts his gaze before he can give into the temptation to do so something foolish.</p><p>“I am sure there must be <em>something</em> in these texts that will tell us what we can do.” He says, gesturing vaguely. “A ritual, or a counter-curse. Perhaps even another relic. Something with such great power cannot exist without a balancing force opposing it.”</p><p>Seungcheol makes a rough noise that would probably be a laugh if it wasn't so miserable, “I am certain you are right about that. Unfortunately, these are the only texts I could find that mention the stone, and as you can plainly see, most of them have been deliberately damaged. And by the very priests that <em>wrote</em> them too.”</p><p>Jihoon blinks and raises his head, confused and surprised at the revelation. “That seems idiotic. Why would the priests damage their own scriptures?”</p><p>Sighing, Seungcheol scratches the side of his head. “The belief was that the stone would pose no danger if it could not be found. If they destroyed all knowledge of it, nobody would go looking. But apparently it was not a unanimous decision, and some scriptures survived. Unfortunately for me, the ones I <em>was</em> able to get my hands on are inscribed in <em>Coptic</em>. I have a rudimentary grasp of the language, but even then, I haven’t been unable to make heads or tails of many—”</p><p>“I can read Coptic!” Jihoon blurts out excitedly.</p><p>Seungcheol gapes at him, as though Jihoon has slapped him in the face. Again.</p><p>“<em>Really</em>? But—but it’s a dead language. What possible use could you have for learning Coptic?”</p><p>Jihoon manages to hide his triumphant smile by springing up to fetch one of the less tattered books sitting on the trunk. He may never have shared his sibling’s flair for gentlemanly pursuits, but he always knew his studious nature would come in useful one day and is a little giddy to be proven correct.</p><p>“I make it a point to learn a great number of things I have no use for,” He says, waving offhandedly, “Dead languages happen to be a speciality of mine. Not that I claim to be an <em>expert</em> of course. I’m self-taught mostly, but I find learning something out of natural curiosity gives you a more potent understanding than knowledge you gain against your will.”</p><p>There is an unmistakable look of approval in Seungcheol’s bright eyes then, one that buoys Jihoon up and fills him with glee. That is until, he pries the book open and actually looks at the first line of text.</p><p>His expression crinkles as he examines the writing, perplexed. The journal <em>is</em> written in Coptic—but it has also been written in some indecipherable coded script, and the letters of the alphabet are jumbled in a way that makes Jihoon's head hurt.</p><p>Whatever is written on these pages, it's clear the drafter didn't want to share.</p><p>Seungcheol edges closer when he hesitates, peering over his shoulder. “Something wrong?”</p><p>“No,” Jihoon manages a smile. “It just might take <em>longer</em> than I anticipated.”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Many, many hours later, Jihoon finds himself smothering a yawn against the back of his hand. Seungcheol has no such compunctions and yawns expansively, stretching himself out in his seat until he threatens to spill to the floor in a pile of tired limbs.</p><p>Pausing in his work, Jihoon turns his head to take in Seungcheol serious profile, the deep shadows beneath his eyes. Only now does he recognize the throb of a headache behind his eyes, the stiffness in his limbs, the deep wash of shadow across the table as the candle burns low.</p><p>“Perhaps you should try and get some sleep Seungcheol.” He suggests quietly, “Deciphering this all will take time.”</p><p>Seungcheol stirs at the question, locking him in a curious look. “And leave you alone and unguarded?”</p><p>Jihoon consider him, a little sceptically.</p><p>It never once occurred to him that he might be in any danger <em>here</em>, in Seungcheol’s home.</p><p>“What’s the likelihood of Uncle Weerus venturing this far when he has failed to leave the house in so many months?”</p><p>Seungcheol frowns slowly, blinking several times again. “Well, he probably had no cause to venture outside when he was well fed. Now that he is alone, who knows what he will do. Or <em>when</em>.”</p><p>The tension in Seungcheol's neck and shoulders conveys how difficult that admission of uncertainty is. More, it convinces Jihoon completely that he should not spend a moment away from his company.</p><p>“Well then—” Jihoon folds his book in his lap, his finger holding his place. “Perhaps we should find a way to rejuvenate ourselves before we continue.”</p><p>Seungcheol studies him for a moment, all bleary eyes and a warm smile. Then laughs, “Hungry?”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>The food Seungcheol prepares for them is one of the strangest feasts Jihoon has had. There is a selection of cured meats and cheeses and fresh sour dough bread that Jihoon is familiar with, but there are also a variety of extras the likes of which Jihoon has never seen. Pots of <em>Macadamia</em> nuts,  strips of dried, colourful fruit and odd little spheres that Jihoon is certain cannot have been sourced locally.</p><p>“What <em>are</em> they?”</p><p>“Olives.” Seungcheol says, with elaborate simplicity. </p><p>“Ooh.”</p><p>Seungcheol smothers a small smile, “They’re an acquired taste. Try one.”</p><p>Jihoon <em>does</em> try one, then panics when he doesn’t know what to do with the little pit in the centre. Seungcheol laughs and nudges forward an empty bowl for him to discard it in.</p><p>“What’s this?” Jihoon asks next, gesturing to the small box full of what appears to be…thin straps of leather?</p><p>They don’t look appetising in the least, but Seungcheol has eaten at least two since he unearthed them, and appears to be enjoying their <em>chewiness</em>.</p><p>“Beef jerky.” Seungcheol says, tearing another chunk off.</p><p>He explains how they are prepared and, well, honestly—that doesn’t make them sound any more appetising, but Jihoon gamely tries a piece for himself, grimacing a little at its immediate saltiness. He’s not sure he approves of the texture either, or it’s appearance. Its leathery, waxy surface reminds him too much of Uncle Weerus, and how his skin stretched taut along his collarbones, weathered and wrinkled from age and dehydra….</p><p>“Water!” Jihoon gasps aloud in realisation.</p><p>Seungcheol stops chewing to squint at him, as though he can’t make sense of Jihoon’s sudden urgency. </p><p>“Uh, would you like me to fetch you some?”</p><p>“No, water—<em>water</em>! Water is the key!” Jihoon babbles, dimly aware he sounds like a lunatic. </p><p>Jumping to his feet, he glances around the couch and comes to a sudden halt when he spots the book, lying open on the floor on the very page he needs. Without hesitation he scrabbles over Seungcheol’s lap to reach for it, causing the man to startle as he lands in lap in an undignified manner.</p><p>“It’s the symbol, we’ve been looking at it all wrong.” Jihoon says, turning the book in his hands. “We assumed it was depicting the stone itself—the power it holds. But what if it’s not—what if it’s illustrating something else, like how to destroy it?”</p><p>“<em>Where</em> are you seeing this?” Seungcheol frowns.</p><p>Jihoon takes a breath, trying to calm his jittery nerves before he speaks again.</p><p>“I’ll admit, the symbol seemed unique to me at first—but it’s not. Look at this etchings on the scroll, look how they compare to the illustrations in this book—they depict the same thing and look the same at first glance, but if you study them closely, there <em>are</em> small differences. Drawings are a matter of perspective, open to the artists interpretation, and centuries of copying the same symbol has distorted its true image over time. This symbol is not unique, and it does not merely represent the stone—this curve, <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/4aae3fb03a04090b452bb1b9a5a7d363/dd8e99fb49cb63c1-e0/s500x750/ae1dca7450f7c5818dfbb65522e4bf395d2a9e4e.jpg">this</a> section that looks like a cross—it depicts the <a href="https://64.media.tumblr.com/4aae3fb03a04090b452bb1b9a5a7d363/dd8e99fb49cb63c1-e0/s500x750/ae1dca7450f7c5818dfbb65522e4bf395d2a9e4e.jpg">Ankh</a>, the Ancient Egyptian symbol for life.”</p><p>Seungcheol is frowning hard now. “So?”</p><p>Jihoon sighs and sets down the book. “For the ancient Egyptians, water <em>was</em> life. The Nile gave them everything, allowed them to build an entire civilisation in the middle of a desert. How they studied the rise and fall of the river led them to develop their theories on the cycle of life and death and rebirth. For them, water was considered to be the earliest form of soul or regenerative essence. Even today, in many religious practices, water is symbolically significant. Just as it is used to cleanse the flesh, it can be to cleanse the spirit.”</p><p>Seungcheol is back to squinting again, tilting his head to one side as he speaks. “Do you want me to run you another bath?”</p><p>“Eugh, you’re such a—” Jihoon refrains from putting his forehead in his hands in favour of smacking Seungcheol on the arm. “It’s his weakness you oaf! My Uncle’s failing. He refused to be bathed, he refused to leave the house and had a fire burning consistently in his chambers. For the last two months, I never saw him drink anything, and the only meals he accepted had to be well dehydrated or burnt to a crisp. It’s the water content—<em>he fears water</em>.”</p><p>Seungcheol stares at him, like he's <em>crazy.</em> Then:</p><p>“Wait, wait—” Seungcheol snaps his fingers several times rapidly and points at Jihoon, suddenly acknowledging his point. Before Jihoon can learn more, he's moving swiftly over to one of the crates, rummaging around within. “Hold on, hold on,” His head is practically buried in the crate. He paws through it, lifting items for examination and discarding them a moment later, before finally producing a small book with a triumphant wave.</p><p>“Here—this is an account from one of the Coptic priests who secured the stone all those years ago. I wasn’t able to translate much, but in one paragraph, the Priest speaks of the night they caught Menes and sealed the crypt.”</p><p>Seungcheol picks up speed as he talks, gesturing jerkily in the air before him, flipping to a particular page in his own notes.</p><p>“Here, here, it says…..<em>after a lengthy chase, we finally managed to corner him when he abandoned his horse to seek shelter from the rain in the Church. The crucifix’s we wielded had no obvious effect on him, but when he was doused with holy water, he wailed in agony, and a fine red dust burst from his body, as though his soul was trying to escape</em>…..</p><p>“They must have thought they’d preformed an exorcism of some kind, but it must been the holy water that weakened him.”</p><p>Seungcheol says it like he's testing out the idea, more question than statement. Fishing for confirmation that this is an understanding they share.</p><p>“Not even holy water—just water. Any water will do,” Jihoon says, rising from his seat. He is standing too close when he reaches his feet, but neither of them retreat, too excited in their discovery to care for the impropriety.</p><p>Seungcheol grins at him, his eyes bright and earnest. “Who knew the answer could be so simple—and so <em>prevalent</em>. All this time I was preparing myself for some complex ritual, when in fact, all I have to do is…dump a bucket of water over your Uncle’s head.”</p><p>“Several buckets of water I think,” Jihoon grins, bouncing on his toes. “We don’t want to take any chances.”</p><p>They nod in jerky unison, then spring into action.</p><p>Moving for the narrow staircase at the same time, they end up jostling each other and preventing much actual progress. Though there’s a great deal <em>more</em> jostling on Seungcheol’s part, who seems to be almost jostling Jihoon on purpose, and when Jihoon turns to scowl at him, he finds the man already scowling back, in a pointed sort of way.</p><p>“Where do you think <em>you’re</em> going?”</p><p>Jihoon blinks up at him. “With you? To fetch the buckets?”</p><p>Seungcheol's shoulders straighten, his spine going rigid as he stands at attention—possibly for the sole purpose of tilting a glare down at him as he says, “Like <em>hell</em>. You are staying right here. I refuse to put you in any further danger; you will nap in the crucifix room until I return.”</p><p>“Wha—” Jihoon flounders, “I thought we established crucifixes have no effect against the bearer of the stone?”</p><p>“Fine. I will run you a bath and you will lounge in the water until I return.” Seungcheol huffs, a familiar glint of stubbornness lighting his handsome face into something sharp and determined. The sight raises uninvited affection to mingle with Jihoon's exasperation.</p><p>“You can’t honestly expect me to stay here Seungcheol.” He counters, more gently than he means to. “If you’re going to kill my Uncle, I would very much like to join you!”</p><p>Except that sounded terrible.</p><p>“What I mean is, if my Uncle is to die, I want to take part!”</p><p>Oh no, that sounds even <em>worse</em>.</p><p>“I don’t want my Uncle’s blood on your hands. I want it on mine!”</p><p>No, no—that won’t do either.</p><p>Jihoon’s beginning to think there is no delicate way to phrase this. Perhaps he should try humour?</p><p>“I would like to be there when my Uncle <em>kicks</em> the bucket. Get it—bucket, water.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s eyes are dark, liquid dark, the pupils almost swallowing the brown of his irises entirely, and Jihoon feels his attempt at levity shrivelling to ash in the heat of that stare. His spine vibrates with the need to keep talking though, the urge to explain, the need to justify himself.</p><p>“Please Seungcheol,” he trails off, and then takes a breath, regaining courage. “You should not do this alone.”</p><p>Seungcheol expression softens then, but warning thunders beneath quiet syllables as he says, “This is not up for debate Jihoon. You are staying here.”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Jihoon watches Seungcheol disappear into the woods through the window of the drawing room,  standing on his tiptoes to keep sight of him for as long as the thick blanket of fog will allow. He has strict instructions to return to the cellar and wait there, to take Seungcheol’s horse and leave for town if he doesn’t return by first light.</p><p>Jihoon has no intention of leaving of course, but he thinks he is able to wait a while at least, before making his own way to manor.</p><p>Returning to the hallway, he stops dead at the sight of a hunting rifle sitting propped against a wall. He can’t recall seeing it there earlier, though he can’t be sure. All he knows is that it’s Seungcheol’s, and he’s clearly left it behind. Perhaps intentionally, perhaps not. Perhaps it’s a <em>sign</em> that Seungcheol really wouldn’t mind a hand after all.</p><p><em>Yes, of course. He’s too proud to ask for help—</em>Jihoon surmises.</p><p>Grinning, Jihoon dashes up the stairs to the bedroom, starts rooting through the clothes he’d given up hope on before. A too large pair of britches are more likely to hinder than help, but he does find a pair of sturdy boots that are roughly his size when he layers on two pairs of socks. He slips them on and laces them as tight as he can, then rushes downstairs to fetch the rifle.   </p><p>He’s vividly aware as he bounds out of the house in nothing but a shirt and boots that this is all a terrible idea. He’s doing the exact opposite of what Seungcheol told him to do, and compounding that, he doesn’t actually know how to <em>shoot</em> a rifle. Certainly, he has some experience <em>handling</em> one as a man of gentry, forced to attend hunting parties and shoot ducks as a manner of sport. But he never took the notion seriously, and most importantly, Jihoon always aimed to miss.</p><p>He quite liked ducks—why would he shoot them?</p><p>As he makes his way closer to Weerus Manor, he decants the dregs of his doubt into something that can be pushed down and ignored. Adjusting his hold on the rifle, he tweaks his facial expression and the line of his shoulders, donning a more confident persona as he approaches the pathway leading up the house.  </p><p>The front door yawns wide open, just as it did when he last glanced back, though now one of the doors have been wrenched from the frame and left to fall, and the other has a red smear on its edge, as if a hand had wrapped round it and been forcibly pulled away.</p><p>Jihoon feels his tension rise as he moves closer, memories try to crowd into his head, try to squeeze the breath from him but he locks his jaw and steps forward, over the threshold.</p><p>Inside, the Manor feels strangely even colder than out—a chill so deep Jihoon can see his every exhale clearly. </p><p>Moonlight doesn't penetrate far into the main hall either, but the signs of a struggle are everywhere; chunks of wood and the broken pieces of what looks like a statue's arm litter the bottom of the staircase, and further down the hall are drag marks on the carpet, thick and dark, and still wet.</p><p>There’s no telling who’s blood it is, but Jihoon fears the worst when he spots Seungcheol’s crossbow resting a few feet away, propped up against two large buckets of water.</p><p>He’s crossing the large, open room carefully, making for the staircase on the other side, when a flash of movement catches the corner of his eye and he turns to see what is making it.</p><p>Nothing is there.</p><p>“Seungcheol?” He calls out quietly, just as there is an eerie 'whump' of sound from upstairs, and a flutter of movement behind him.</p><p>Whirling around to see what has made the noise, Jihoon barely gets a chance to raise the rifle before two figures come crashing through the dining room doors to his right, skidding sideways in the dust and broken glass.</p><p>Jihoon tumbles back in surprise, dropping the rifle. It clatters onto the floor somewhere; he can’t see where it disappears in the shadows.</p><p>When he looks up, he finds it’s Seungcheol who startled him, and that he’s grappling with some unknown mad woman, trying to stop her from biting him.</p><p>Despite her petite size, she seems to have gained the upper hand in their tussle, and has Seungcheol pinned to the floor as she attempts to maul him.  </p><p>For his part, Seungcheol is managing to dodge the worst of her swipes, holding her back with a forearm against her throat, but the wide-eyed look of shock on his face suggests the strength and ferocity she’s demonstrating is very unexpected indeed.</p><p>Jihoon feels a frisson of fear race down his spine as he takes in the scene and lunges for the crossbow, not thinking.</p><p>Grasping it off the floor, he pins the stirrup with his boot and tugs on the bow strings to prime it, exhaling in relief when it clicks in place. He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know <em>why</em> he's doing it, and as soon as he loads the first bow into the quiver, he wonders where <em>that</em> instinct came from.</p><p>Apparently self-preservation is a powerful thing because somewhere his brain has sensed danger and taken matters into its own hands, shown him exactly how to load the blasted thing, where to rest his fingers so he doesn’t lose them, how to aim steady and, alarmingly, how to pull the trigger.</p><p>When the first arrow hits the woman in the shoulder, she half-turns with the impact, and faces Jihoon with a terrible snarl of rage. It’s then Jihoon gets a good look at her face—her white, wide eyes, her teeth bloodied and wet and shining.</p><p>The action of cocking and loading the crossbow has become so seamless, so easy now, that Jihoon finds himself doing it again and again—sending arrow after arrow into the Woman's chest. Each strike impales her, and yet, there is no outburst of blood. Improbably, she still keeps clawing at Seungcheol’s forearm.</p><p>It’s only when Jihoon aims higher, sends the last arrow punching through her skull does she finally stop, crumpling in a jumble of thin limbs and long, tangled brown hair. </p><p>Seungcheol pushes the woman’s deadweight aside, and when he sets eyes on Jihoon, his frown is instant and fierce, “I thought I told you to stay at the house?”</p><p>“Well that was a gross miscalculation on your part,” Jihoon replies a little defiantly, lowering the crossbow. “You <em>clearly</em> require my help.”</p><p>“I was handling it okay, she just took me by surprise,” Seungcheol grunts unhappily, clambering to his feet. “When I happened upon her, she was just standing in the corner of the dining room, in some sort of daze. She only grew violent when you called out for me.”</p><p>Jihoon rolls his eyes instead of arguing the point further. Seungcheol doesn’t seem inclined to send him skipping back to the Dowager House anyway, though he does reclaim his crossbow, and after a careful glance around, the hunting rifle too.</p><p>His brow furrows as he checks the chamber, “Where’d you find this?”</p><p>Jihoon quirks a bewildered brow, “Uh, back at your <em>home</em>. You left it behind in the hallway.”</p><p>“Yes, because it’s purely ornamental and I have no <em>bullets</em> for it.” Seungcheol answers coolly, raising an eyebrow back.</p><p>Jihoon pouts. “Oh.”</p><p>Shaking his head, Seungcheol discards the rifle and steps around him, crouching to examine the body on the floor.</p><p>“This isn’t good.” He says after a moment, which in Jihoon personal opinion, is the understatement of the <em>century</em>. But there’s something about the way he says it—a tension, a lack of levity, that tells Jihoon he isn’t simply referring to a mere dead body.  </p><p>“What? What is it?”</p><p>Seungcheol’s studying the body more carefully now, turning the body over to inspect the woman’s face, yanking one of the arrows to inspect the puncture wound. When he leans back, his brow is deeply furrowed and his eyes are dilated. He wears the aspect of a man who is thinking very, <em>very</em> hard.</p><p>“I <em>recognise</em> this woman. She’s…I am certain she’s one of the maids I’d paid to leave a few months back. The ones that never presented for their payment. I suspected she’d been devoured along with the rest, but look—” He lifts a portion of her matted hair to point at a deep bruise on her neck, “She’s only been bitten.”</p><p>Jihoon swallows thickly, a fine buzzing somewhere at the back of his head. “That’s a good thing right? I mean…I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to be bitten then to be devoured completely. If I had to <em>choose</em>.”</p><p>Seungcheol shakes his head. “No, can’t you see. Look at the state of decomposition—her complexion, the lack of blood at the entry points. The <em>smell</em>. Look at the way her gumline is pulling away from her teeth. This woman has been dead at least a <em>month</em>.</p><p>Jihoon wipes a hand over his face, tries to think rationally, tries to work out what the hell is going on.</p><p>“Then…how is she still walking around?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Seungcheol spits on the ground in disgust as he straightens up. “But this poses an even bigger problem than I anticipated.”</p><p>“W-why’s that?” Jihoon’s voice cracks a little despite himself.</p><p>Seungcheol turns to face him, a worrying crease between his eyes. “How many servants have disappeared since your Uncle returned from his journey?”</p><p>“At least five by my estim—” Jihoon feels the blood leave his face. “Oh god, what are you saying?”</p><p>Not a handful of seconds later, two doors swing open at the other end of the hall and they’re facing three bloodied servants.</p><p>Jihoon immediately recognizes Scout, the footman, from the dark green livery he wears if not for the fact that his left boot is missing. His eyes stare as unerringly as before and his jaw…oh god, his entire lower jaw has been ripped clean off, leaving his tongue to loll out grotesquely. The other two are new faces to him, though they’re in equal states of decay, twitchy and starvation thin as they lumber forward.</p><p>Seungcheol grasps his arm tightly, and for the first time since meeting him, gives Jihoon a look of dull fear.</p><p>“We have to leave. I haven’t enough weaponry to kill them all.”</p><p>“We can use the back entrance, through the kitchens—go!” Jihoon says, voice thready with panic.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>The futility of that plan becomes immediately evident however, when they rush into the kitchen and right into Mrs Bigbottom.</p><p>Or to be more precise, Mrs Bigbottom’s big bottomed bloody corpse—who immediately tries to slice Seungcheol’s throat open with a kitchen knife.</p><p>Seungcheol crashes into the counter under the weight of her, scattering dishes, and manages to twist away before she can inflict any damage. But now she’s effectively blocking the path to their exit, and there's no time for Jihoon to do anything but turn and bolt the door behind them, seconds before the others following closely on their heels can barrel through.</p><p>They take turns stabbing her with knives and forks and skewers. Anything sharp and pointy they can get their hands on. It seems to have little to no effect on Mrs Bigbottom however, who merely continues to groan and waddle towards them, trailing her innards across the kitchen tiles.  </p><p>“Why won’t she just die!” Jihoon huffs, finding himself backed against the counter after another futile attempt.  </p><p>“Maybe because she’s already dead?” Seungcheol says, sounding far too amused for a man who’s currently beating a bloated corpse with a rolling pin.</p><p>“Well she’s very <em>sprightly</em> for a dead woman. What motivates her to be so sprightly?”</p><p>“The stone I expect. It must be somewhere in the house.” Seungcheol grunts—frowning when his rolling pin cracks in two.</p><p>Dodging another of Mrs Bigbottom’s lunges, Jihoon grabs a knife and drives it into her back—cringing at the blood bursts out to greet him, but surprisingly not fainting.</p><p>Usually the sight of blood leaves him a little woozy, but for some reason it’s not registering tonight. He’s honestly not sure whether it's fear, adrenaline or exhaustion. Or some complicated mess of all three. But there's blood smeared across the back of his hand, under his fingernails, stained in his knuckles—too human, too real to have come out of the ghastly creature in front of him. And yet—he never falters.  </p><p>A good thing too—since Mrs Bigbottom gives no signs of tiring either. The only thing that seemed to stun her is when Seungcheol brought the china cabinet down over her….<em>head</em>.</p><p>“Perhaps we should aim for her head?” Jihoon suggests, dodging another swipe. “That’s where the brain is. Not that she’s currently using it, obviously, but that worked for the maid!”</p><p>“Good thinking.” Seungcheol nods, then grabbing two skewers from the fire he drives them both through Mrs Bigbottom’s eye sockets.</p><p>Jihoon thinks he hears the sickening ‘squelch’, before she tumbles down to the grubby tiles. Dead. <em>Deader</em>?</p><p>“Fucking hell. That was too close for comfort.” Jihoon breathes, slumping against the counter, though Seungcheol shakes his head and Jihoon knows for sure that he feels it too. The sense that this is far from over.</p><p>As if on cue, the lock on the kitchen door goes.</p><p>It slams open and the doorway is instantly filled with a mass of reaching arms and dark, wet, open mouths. Stumbling into the kitchen in a thick stream, smelling like dirt and sewage and rank, old blood.</p><p>Seungcheol yanks one of the skewers out of Mrs Bigbottom’s eye socket and sends it flying like a javelin through the air, spearing Scout right in the forehead. He falls to the ground and doesn't rise again. Though others are already clambering over him, fingers clawing at the doorway and the edges of the walls.</p><p>There’s …there’s just too many of them now.</p><p>There’s definitely more than the three that gave chase.</p><p>Grabbing Seungcheol’s arm, Jihoon pulls him towards the servant’s staircase, “The stairs! Come!”</p><p>The back staircase is a narrow, winding affair, perilously difficult to navigate during the day, let alone in the dark when your boots are a few sizes too big and a large, muscular man is scrambling behind you, yelling—“Faster Jihoon, faster!”</p><p>Jihoon makes it half-way up under his own steam, before Seungcheol’s tossing him over his shoulder and sprinting the rest of the way up. Which gives Jihoon a terrifying up-close view of the three—four, no—<em>six</em>, undead <em>things</em> chasing after them. Scrambling forward, slack mouthed and glassy eyed.</p><p>“They’re gaining on us!” Jihoon whimpers, trying to be helpful.</p><p>“Yes, thank you Jihoon, I’m well aware of that.” Seungcheol’s tone is—impossibly—light and unworried. Easy. Exasperated. Like he can't believe Jihoon is bothering him with insignificant details. Like <em>‘What? That shambling mass of undead? Oh, don’t worry, getting devoured is part of the plan.’</em></p><p>Jihoon’s beginning to wonder if this is how the man survives his terrible birth right—with giant shoulders and stamina and bull-headed determination. Maybe all Hunters are like this—unshakable in the face of death.  </p><p>Well, Jihoon is <em>not</em> unshakable.</p><p>Jihoon would very much like to <em>live</em>.</p><p>A wish which is becoming increasingly difficult to fulfil with each twist of the staircase.</p><p>They can’t outrun them forever—Jihoon quickly determines as they reach the third floor and burst out of the stairwell into the former servant’s quarters. The shambling undead are gaining ferocity and speed, and Seungcheol is already panting as he navigates them both through the abandoned repairs, teetering across unsteady planks and leaping over piles of bricks.</p><p>Jihoon has to squeeze his eyes shut as one of their pursuers knocks into a support beam, and the entire roof creaks dangerously. The repairs have been neglected for decades—one misstep could send them entire roof falling over their…..</p><p>Oh, actually….</p><p>Glancing back over his shoulder at the support beams ahead of them, Jihoon pinpoints the weakest one; a narrow block of wood near the end of the corridor, already rotting with damp and decay.</p><p>“Do you think you could kindly exert some of your energy kicking that last support beam?” He asks, patting Seungcheol on the back.</p><p>Seungcheol doesn’t seem to appreciate his input.</p><p>“I’m a little busy right now Jihoon.”</p><p>Jihoon spares a worrying glance over his shoulder; the support beam in question will pass them soon and they may never get another chance.</p><p>“Kick over that beam, now!”</p><p>With a growl, Seungcheol does, and seems surprised when his boot breaks through the rotting wood with ease.</p><p>Behind them, the roof gives an almighty creak as the adjacent beam snaps too, followed by another, and another—and in gratifying swiftness, the entire North side of the roof plummets down on their pursuers, burying them in a shower of wood, plaster and old tiles.</p><p>“How…how did you know that would happen?” Seungcheol puffs, setting Jihoon back down on his feet.</p><p>Jihoon glances up at him, embarrassed to find himself breathless when he’s hardly done any running himself, “It’s basic physics Seungcheol. Weight, pressure, gravity—decades of neglect combined with the truly appalling winters we’ve had make for a very unstable building site.” He shrugs affably, “It just makes sense.”</p><p>Seungcheol bursts a laugh of surprise, reaching up to cup Jihoon’s cheeks in his hands.</p><p>“You—you are an incredible, beautiful little man.”</p><p>Jihoon blinks in shock. <em>He</em> knows his stunt went a long way towards saving their asses, but Seungcheol’s never offered him such a blatant, unmistakable—<em>intentional</em>—compliment before. He doesn’t have long to bask in the admiration however, as not a second later, there’s an ominous creak and the second half of the roof comes crashing down too.</p><p>Jihoon squeezes his eyes tightly as he braces for the impact, only to find himself hoisted off his feet and pulled into the safety of the staircase.</p><p>When he opens his eyes, there’s dust all over his hands and face and a wall of debris blocks the entrance to the servant’s quarters, but he’s managed to escape relatively unharmed.</p><p>Only then does he notice the wall of muscle crushed all along his front, shielding him against the impact, the powerful arms that bracket his body in an unavoidable mockery of an embrace.</p><p>Jihoon lifts his head with difficulty, ignoring the way his heart beats faster as Seungcheol presses both hands to the wall on either side of him and draws back, looking down at him with concern. “Are you hurt?”</p><p>“No,” Jihoon manages a shy smile, “Merely dusty.”</p><p>Seungcheol grins and claps him on the back in a manly fashion, shaking the worst of the dust from his hair.</p><p>“Good. Now, let’s find a way out of this hell, shall we?”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>With the servant’s corridor a wreck behind them, they have no choice but to take the second staircase down, bringing them to a darkened hallway lined with rooms, back in the centre of the Manor.</p><p>Jihoon waits in the archway as Seungcheol checks the closest rooms and returns, bearing something. He hears the scratch of a match, and then light spills out from a candle. Seungcheol lifts it high, and lights first one lantern and then another, providing light throughout the hallway.</p><p>Almost immediately, a growl at the bottom of the hallway catches their attention, before there’s a crash of something falling and….Mr Kim stumbles into view.</p><p>He wears the same white dressing gown he had last night, though it’s now torn and matted with blood, and his right leg is clearly broken—protruding sickeningly from the skin, canting his balance awkwardly to the right as he stumbles forwards.</p><p>"Mr Kim?" Jihoon calls out, mildly hopeful until he realizes the man lumbering forward is practically foaming at the mouth, and his eyes…. they’re hellfire red.</p><p>Nothing human about them.</p><p>“Oh god, Seungcheol!” Jihoon panics, grasping blindly for Seungcheol’s arm.</p><p>Seungcheol, of course, had already realised the danger and is one step ahead of him, ripping one of the old ceremonial swords hanging on the wall.</p><p>It’s heavier than it looks, still encased in its decorative wrought-iron ornament, and the blade scrapes over the floorboards with the weight. But Seungcheol grasps it tightly and still manages to swing it high through the air.</p><p>It’s clearly sharper than it looks too, and with one swipe, Mr Kim drops to his knees with a heavy, graceless ‘thump’. His head, now cleanly separated from his shoulders, rolls across the floor. It would have continued to roll towards Jihoon had Seungcheol not stopped it with his boot and kicked it away.  </p><p>“It wasn’t him anymore Jihoon, you know that right?” Seungcheol pants, dropping the sword.</p><p>Not trusting his voice, Jihoon nods.</p><p>Tears prickle and he blinks them back, determined not to cry.</p><p>Mr Kim hadn’t saved his life only for Jihoon to have a breakdown here. If he couldn’t say farewell to kindly Steward who’d been so loyal to his family, then he can at least honour his sacrifice by finding a way out of this hell house once and for all.</p><p>Gathering themselves once more, they walk down the hallway together, avoiding the trail of blood that winds down the middle of the floor.</p><p>Naturally, Seungcheol takes the lead, letting his gaze sweep over each of the rooms they pass before quietly motioning Jihoon forward. They avoid the turn of the hall that leads to Uncle Weerus’ chamber, and instead head towards the grand staircase.</p><p>Suddenly, a few steps ahead of him, Seungcheols freezes.</p><p>He holds up a hand, telling Jihoon to hold back.  </p><p>For what, Jihoon can’t quite say. Six feet from the bannister, he can’t see what Seungcheol’s seeing.</p><p>Then slowly, quietly, Seungcheol backs away.</p><p>“What is it?” Jihoon whispers, when the man reaches his side again.</p><p>“There’s more of them on the stairs. <em>Lots</em> more.” There is a strained quality to Seungcheol’s voice that does not bode well for their situation, “We need to find another way out.”</p><p>Jihoon rubs his temples as he tries to recall the most accessible exit from their current location. If the front door is no longer an option, exiting through the coal shoot in the cellar is out of the question too. Which is a relief; Jihoon really hates the idea of venturing <em>deeper</em> into the house. But that only leaves…</p><p>“If we cross over that walkway to the West wing, we can take the service exit there. It leads out towards the stables.”</p><p>Seungcheol nods, then worryingly, sets his lantern aside. “Okay. But we have to do this quietly. Very, very quietly.”</p><p>Nodding, Jihoon lets Seungcheol thread their fingers together as they approach the staircase once more.   </p><p>The stretch of floor between the East and West wings of the Manor is thickly carpeted, allowing them to cross soundlessly. Half-way over, Jihoon takes in a breath and holds it, finally sighting what has Seungcheol so anxious that they must.</p><p>Below them, on each side of the staircase, the undead lie in wait.</p><p>There’s no telling how many exactly, and Jihoon is to fearful to venture from the centre of the walkway to count, but he can see their listless forms through the spindles of the bannister, shuffling along and occasionally bumping into one another. Miss Sweeps is among them, still dressed in her chambermaid’s livery, and Jihoon is certain he recognizes another as the stable hand that left suddenly one night.</p><p>They’re just about to step into the west branch of the Manor, when one of the dead lurches into sight from around the stairs. A stiff gaited thing with flat blank eyes, dressed in the tattered remnants of a Butler’s suit. He’s heavy and slow but he’s intent as soon as he sees them, as soon as he realises they’re <em>alive</em>.</p><p>Seungcheol takes him out quickly and quietly, with a well-placed dagger through his eye, before lowering the body soundlessly to the floor. But when he straightens upright again, there’s a strange, definitive hush all around them, and when Jihoon glances around frantically, he determines why.</p><p>Below, the undead have stopped shuffling and have all turned their heads up to face them.</p><p>Every single one of them.</p><p>“Shit.” Seungcheol says in his regular tone.</p><p>Jihoon mimics the sentiment wholeheartedly as they both break into a run.</p><p>There is no need for stealth or secrecy now, nor was it likely there had been the need for them since they'd arrived. These <em>things</em> are everywhere, and they’ve been waiting for them. Worse, it seems they’ve been <em>expecting</em> them—pupetted by some unseen force to track and hunt them down. Jihoon hates the feeling of being led by the nose, the feeling of being predictable. If there was anything he'd fought against in his life, it was being predictable.</p><p>There’s a rumble of footsteps behind them as the undead rush up the stairs, Jihoon can hear the crashing, sliding thud of feet, of hands pushing furniture out of the way. Then out in front, at the top of the West wing hallway, more of the undead burst through—blocking them in.</p><p>Seungcheol drags them to a stop in the centre of the hallway, head snapping back and forth, searching frantically for another way out. But there isn’t one. There are no exits to be seen, only the doors of open rooms around them, and no hope in sight.</p><p>Jihoon drags him into the room closest to them, because it’s one he recognises as Mr Kim’s office, and though there is no way out, he knows there’s a heavy bookshelf just behind the door they can use as fortification.</p><p>It’s dark when they stumble inside. The curtains are all drawn, and paper is strewn across the floor in crumpled, haphazard piles. It’s too dark to see if anything is lurking behind the furniture, waiting there for them, but still Jihoon does not hesitate to slam the door shut and help Seungcheol push the shelf in place behind the door.</p><p>The groaning starts less than a second after that. Quiet and low at first, but then increasing in volume and speed as more of the undead surround the door. Jihoon can hear the soft drag-push of fingers scraping the wood, can hear it begin to splinter already as more lend their weight, trying to press their way inside.</p><p>It won’t be long before they succeed.</p><p>A fact that hasn’t skipped Seungcheol’s notice either, who is already crossing the room and tearing the curtains down from the nearest set of windows.</p><p>As Jihoon watches, he ties the ends together tightly and tugs, testing their strength, before reaching for the second row of curtains and doing the same. The fabric has seen better days; moth eaten and frayed, it’s already tearing in places, but whatever purpose Seungcheol intends for it, he seems satisfied that it will suffice.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Jihoon asks tremulously, torn between watching Seungcheol work and watching the centre of the door disintegrate under the push of a bloody crooked hand.</p><p>Seungcheol doesn’t look up, doesn’t pause from his task, he merely continues to tie the curtains together. When he secures the last one, he loops one end around Jihoon’s waist and pulls it taut.</p><p>“The fabric is weak, but it should hold long enough for me to lower you down to the bottom floor through this window. When you get there, you must run as quickly as you can. Run and don’t look back.”</p><p>“W-what about you?” Jihoon chokes past the crush of feeling in his throat.</p><p>“I’ll take out as many of them as I can before they get me.” Seungcheol says, cranking the window open, not looking at Jihoon.</p><p>There is something infinitely practical in his tone. He doesn't even look angry or upset. Merely intent. Focused. Jihoon remembers the furious, efficient way he readied the sword to strike Mr Kim out of his misery, and indulges in a moment of wanting—very badly and very irrationally—to shake him.</p><p>“No, no, I’m not going.” He says, the rush of emotion making his voice shaky. “I’m not running away and leaving you behind.”</p><p>“You’ll do as I say.” Seungcheol grunts, hauling him towards the window.</p><p>“No, I won’t.” Jihoon shakes his head, urgent with denial, “I am <em>not</em> your charge Seungcheol, I am not your burden to protect. We can still figure a way out of this.”</p><p>Letting the curtains fall from his grasp, Seungcheol sighs and touches his forehead to Jihoon's for the briefest moment. When he pulls back, there's an uncomfortable mix of warmth and sadness in his gaze and Jihoon has to force himself to stand very still as Seungcheol smoothes a thumb over the arch of his brow and lets it rest beside his eye, very gently.</p><p>“We’re surrounded Jihoon. Any minute now, those things are going to burst through that door and rip us limb from limb. No sense in us both dying when there’s still a chance for you to escape. Please, don’t make me force you outside this window. All I have ever wanted since setting eyes on you is to keep you safe, I have failed in that respect, do not let me fail in this.”</p><p>Jihoon’s heart does one of those near-painful twists that only desire could inspire, and for the second time in as many days, he is pretty sure that he has stopped breathing.</p><p>Tears brimming in his eyes, he tears himself away from Seungcheol’s grasp, almost tripping on the length of curtain Seungcheol has begun to wind around his waist. He steadies himself against a dusty shelf, filled with bottles of whiskey and bourbon that clink dangerously together.   </p><p>“Stop, just stop—please,” He sobs, glancing around the room frantically. Raising both hands to his temples, he twists his fingers in the loose tangle of his hair. “Just let me think of something, I can….”</p><p>After a few blinks, Jihoon freezes. Something isn’t quite right. He looks around again, and it takes a long moment to spot what had caught his inner attention.</p><p>There, lined up high on the shelves—</p><p>“The whiskey!”</p><p>His brain is already maneuvering around the problem, searching for a workable solution, even before he registers the way Seungcheol is looking at him—expectant, as though he’s confident in Jihoon’s ability to come up with an answer—and his train of thought actually trips up a little at the way that look settles behind his ribs and warms his chest.</p><p>Thinking done, Jihoon levers himself up to reach the fattest whisky bottle on the shelf, then ripping a strip of material from one of the curtains, he threads it through the neck of the bottle until the tip is soaking up the amber liquid.</p><p>If Seungcheol looks at him quizzically for a moment, he chooses not to notice.</p><p>“Your matches, give them to me.”</p><p>Seungcheol raises an eyebrow but does so without protest. </p><p>“How good is your aim?” Jihoon asks, setting the bottle down momentarily while he fiddles with the matches, strikes one and sets the end of the fabric aflame.</p><p>“Excellent, bordering on exceptional.” Seungcheol drawls, with that cockiness Jihoon knows so well.</p><p>“Right then—” Jihoon nods, handing him the bottle, “Then I suppose <em>you</em> should start throwing these at that hole in the door, and <em>I’ll</em> continue making them.”</p><p>Seungcheol gives him a fiercely approving smile and launches the first bottle.</p><p>It spins right through the gap in the door and smashes into something. The groaning never stops and it takes a moment to see the flames build, but the next time the door jolts in its frame, it’s less purposeful than before.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>When Seungcheol shoves the shelf aside and the door collapses, a heap of bodies greet them.</p><p>They’re packed tightly in the doorway, still smoking faintly with their limbs stretched high, like they were still trying to claw their way in when their bodies surrendered to the flames. The smell is horrific, and Jihoon dry heaves, taking a jittery step back as Seungcheol shoves his boot into the ashy remains and kicks them back to clear a path.</p><p>Seungcheol takes the first step, moving silently into the hallway.</p><p>He’s only a foot away, but already Jihoon wants to reach out, wants to pull him back, wants to do almost anything but venture out there after him. But he wants to remain in this house even less, so breathing deeply though his mouth, he takes a few shuffling, silent steps forward.</p><p>Dawn his somewhere on the horizon, the clock on the wall says as much, but the darkness of the hallway seems unending, stretching away in both directions. There’s scarcely enough light to get a good idea of where they’re going, but they only manage a few steps before Seungcheol stops abruptly, then curls an arm round Jihoon’s waist and pulls him back behind him.  </p><p>Curling his fingers into his jacket, Jihoon levers himself up to look over his shoulder and tenses.</p><p>It's not entirely dark anymore—there's a lamp lit farther up the hallway somewhere, and in the shadows stands Uncle Weerus, emaciated and pale.</p><p>He looks worse now than ever before, skin tearing in places where it’s stretched too thin, and one of his cheeks is hollowed in, like his teeth are just gone. He's half slumped against the wall, the fingers of one hand clawing at the wallpaper as if he’s trying to hold himself up, and in the other hand, burning the skin of his palm is a bright red stone.</p><p>“Oh god.” Jihoon gasps, because he can’t help himself.</p><p>It’s safe to assume <em>that</em> is the Endurance Stone. Just as it's safe to say the man holding it is <em>not</em> his uncle.</p><p>Not anymore.  </p><p>Menes laughs and lifts his chin, and when their eyes meet, Jihoon feels a chill go down his spine.</p><p>His face is bloodied, and he’s still wearing that same eerie smile as he had last night, but his eyes—oh <em>god</em>—his <em>eyes</em>.</p><p>Shadows ripple in great dark waves from the sockets, like a hundred tiny moths bursting from a cocoon. They twist about him, a dust storm of black smoke, bleeding from his eyes and ears, and even from his mouth when he opens it to greet him.</p><p>“My new host—you have returned as expected.” His voice rustles out of his throat in dry bursts.</p><p>Against his will, Jihoon makes a quiet whimpering sound and clutches Seungcheol’s arm tighter.</p><p>It’s fruitless though.</p><p>Menes laughs, a jerky, crackling series of heaves, and with a simple flick of his wrist, suddenly, Seungcheol is wrenched from his grip, catapulted back down the hall like he weighs nothing.</p><p>It takes every ounce of Jihoon’s willpower not to scream as he watches Seungcheol hurtle past him, crashing into the far wall with a bone-jarring smack that leaves him gasping.</p><p>He’s still alive but terribly winded, sluggish as he attempts to drag himself to his feet.  </p><p>Menes does not give him time to recover though, with another flick of his wrist the hallway rug comes to life, sliding up the hallway towards Seungcheol, flipping and curling until it’s twisted around his body, his legs—trapping him.</p><p>“Now that he’s taken care of, you can finally claim your gift.” Menes croaks, using the wall to take another step forward.</p><p>Every step he takes looks painful, he looks like he'll snap if he moves too fast, but Jihoon is afraid to move away.</p><p>The man is practically a corpse but he's still the most terrifying thing Jihoon has ever seen, and the stone in his hand seems to be drawing him in.</p><p>It burnishes bright, gleaming as Menes holds it out in his palm.</p><p>“Take it.”</p><p>“Don’t Jihoon! Don’t you dare touch it! He can’t force you—” Seungcheol voice turns muffled abruptly, like something’s stopping him from speaking.</p><p>Jihoon dearly wishes to turn and check on him, but he can’t seem to move his body anywhere but forward. Towards Menes—towards the stone.</p><p>Up close, it seems almost to shiver in the air. A nearly imperceptible glow twines along a pattern of grooves, traces like etchings into the otherwise smooth surface. Looking at it sends an unpleasant sensation of ice along Jihoon's spine, so he looks quickly elsewhere.</p><p>“Take it.” Menes seethes. The click of his teeth is audible now.</p><p>One more step and he coughs, knees going out of him. The stone clatters to the floor, just as the dozens of unlit candles along the corridor burst aflame.</p><p>A rush of wind accompanies the firelight, ruffling Jihoon's shirt, sending him back a step. A surge of heat singes and twists beneath his skin then, behind his ribs, clamping tight around his heart and lungs.</p><p>For an instant he can't breathe, can't feel anything beyond the sharp lack of air in his chest. A moment later and his lungs heave, but his heart feels wrong. Beating too hard—beating too <em>fast</em>—like there are two hearts at war in his chest, both pounding at once. His temples throb, and he doesn't recognize the voice inside his own head, whispering –<em>take it, take it, take it.</em></p><p>Behind him, he can hear Seungcheol still struggling, pleading with him not to be tempted, but his voice has dropped so low Jihoon can't hear it beneath his own warring heartbeat and the mounting rush of wind.</p><p>The stone glows even brighter on the floor now, a few feet away, and with every step forward it pulses, until it's white hot, too painful to look at. The candle flames dance wildly, but they don't flicker or blow out. If anything they burn higher and hotter as Jihoon moves forward, finally comes to a stop in front of the stone and….lifts the hem of his shirt up.</p><p>“What ….are you <em>doing</em>?” Menes gasps, bone-thin hands flickering and sparking as he attempts to reach out.</p><p>Jihoon closes his eyes, takes hold of his cock, working hard to calm himself and <em>sighs</em>.  </p><p>“Pissing on your stupid stone.”</p><p>The moment Jihoon does, Menes howls—a shrill, empty, long dead wail of sound that has him hunching his shoulders. The noise becomes a roaring wail as the stone begins to splinter, as smoke begins curls up in a thick, red waves and all around them and the entire house shudders, like it's being shaken by a vast hand.</p><p>Jihoon has just a moment to wonder is he’s done the right thing when, suddenly, there's an audible crack—a snap of complete stillness and the light in the stone goes out.</p><p>Jihoon lifts his head when impossible wind disappears, watching the candles douse themselves in eerie unison. He doesn’t know if the heaving breathing he hears is his own or Menes’, but the man’s body is now disintegrating in little dry cracks, and in less than a minute there’s nothing but a dry husk crumbling on the floor before his eyes.</p><p>Letting his shirt-tails fall, Jihoon glances down at the stone—what’s left of it. Behind him he can hear Seungcheol struggling to free himself, but he must manage it somehow because suddenly he’s at Jihoon’s side, grabbing his shoulders and turning him around.</p><p>“What the fuck just happened?”</p><p>Jihoon breathes out shakily, meeting Seungcheol’s eyes. “I uhm, I pissed on the stone?”</p><p>“S-seriously?” Seungcheol says after a moment of incredulous gawking.</p><p>Embarrassed heat inches up Jihoon's spine, and he can only imagine how brightly flushed his face has become. “Well—you know, urine is <em>technically</em> water, and …and we were kind of out of options. I had to improvise.”</p><p>Seungcheol just stares at him in bald disbelief for a moment, then he surges forward, closes on him and wraps Jihoon up in an improbable hug.</p><p>Jihoon gasps at the warm crush of a body that should not feel this familiar. At the strength in Seungcheol's arms closing around him. At the sturdiness settling around him like a foundation of stone, simultaneously terrifying and exactly what he needs.</p><p>He doesn’t know if hugging back is an appropriate reaction to the situation, but it certainly <em>feels</em> nice. So he curls closer and clings shamelessly, until Seungcheol slowly relaxes, exhaling an exhausted sigh against his hair.   </p><p>Neither of them speaks for an age, but for once they don’t require words. They just breathe together, calming by degrees, and hold onto each other in the wonderful, grateful silence.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>The west wing of Weerus Manor is already on fire when they find their way out, and with the addition of a little accelerant they fetch from the stables, the rest of the building is set ablaze too.</p><p>By the time the smoke signals anyone who would be happening to look outside their window so early in the morning, Jihoon hopes there will be nothing left to find amidst the ashes. But just to be sure, he takes a seat on the low brick wall in the garden and watches the flames rise into the air, his head resting on Seungcheol’s shoulder.</p><p>"Sorry about your Uncle. He was truly a great man." Seungcheol says, curling his arm tighter around Jihoon's waist. He doesn’t look like he means any of it, of course, but mouthing insincere niceties is a big step forward for him.</p><p>“There’s nothing to apologise for. It’s not your fault he’d gone mad and proceeded to murder his entire household in the middle of the night. I’m just lucky you saw the flames from the Dowager house and came and rescued me before I fell victim too.”</p><p>Seungcheol looks at him askance, shading his eyes from the sunshine. “Is that the story we’re going with?”</p><p>Jihoon nods. He'd thought that lie up shortly before dawn, and it sounds the most plausible.</p><p>Seungcheol nods mutely, then… bursts out laughing.</p><p>After a moment of bemused staring, Jihoon joins him, the two of them giving into the absurd mirth of the moment, barely able to meet each other’s gazes without breaking into fresh chuckles each time.</p><p>A while passes before they manage to control themselves, and Jihoon stares out at the smouldering wreck before them. “I can’t believe we survived that.” He whispers, watching the area of the Manor that would have been his room collapse.</p><p>Seungcheol smothers a yawn, and something that might be more laughter, “I can’t believe we succeeded and you were dressed in nothing but a pair of boots and my shirt the entire time.”</p><p>Jihoon can’t quite hide his blush as he glances down at the tattered remnants of his shirt. In his current state, he’s hardly leaving much to the imagination. Especially when a soft breeze ripples through the long grass around them and threatens to <em>expose</em> him completely.  </p><p>“Oh, ah—yes. If you don’t mind, I may need to borrow another.” He murmurs, pinning the torn shirt tail to his leg. </p><p>Seungcheol grins at him, but that smile grows tender after a moment, and before Jihoon can protest, he’s standing up to remove his coat and settling it across Jihoon’s shoulders.</p><p>It’s a sweet gesture, and Jihoon insides turn a little puddly in a dangerously familiar way, but he doesn’t hesitate to let his hand reach for Seungcheol’s, feeling a surge of happiness when Seungcheol’s roughened fingers interlace with his.</p><p>After a moment of quiet contemplation, Jihoon shifts, studying Seungcheol in the golden light as he sits lost in thought.</p><p>Despite the horrifying events of the past 24 hours, despite how truly infuriating the man before him has proven he can be, Jihoon’s heart sinks at the thought of not seeing him again.</p><p>It’s bound to happen of course, Jihoon is sure of it.</p><p>Seungcheol has no reason to linger here, and Jihoon has even less. They will part ways after today, and possibly….most probably, never see each other again. Seungcheol has his life of intrigue and adventure ahead of him, and Jihoon….well….he'll be somewhere else doing something tedious with other terribly dull people who've never had a spark of excitement in their dull little lives.</p><p>It’s the natural order of things.</p><p>Why should that change just because they’ve survived something horrific together?</p><p>“Where will you go now?” Jihoon finds the question leaving his mouth before he can suppress it.  </p><p>“I’m not sure,” Seungcheol says to the coolness of the morning sky. “But if tonight has taught me anything, it is that my journey is far from over. There is too much evil in the world to go unchecked, I can no longer sit back and ignore my heritage, my true purpose in life.”</p><p>Jihoon fends off a grainy wave of despair and admits, “I suppose neither can I. My family never approved of my desire to study alongside Uncle Weerus. They only tolerated my fanciful notions because it would come at no cost to them. Now with him gone, I have no choice but to accept what my parents plan for me and return home and join…the <em>clergy</em>.”</p><p>Seungcheol startles visibly at the pronouncement, and turns to stare at him with impossibly wide eyes.</p><p>If it weren't for the cluster of anxious sensations twisting in Jihoon's chest, the look of incredulous horror could almost be funny. As it is, frustration shivers along his skin and he says, more clipped than he intends. “What? You don’t think I’d make a good <em>vicar</em>?”</p><p>Seungcheol's eyes scan his face more deliberately now.</p><p>“<em>Honestly</em> Jihoon, I think you would excel at anything you put your mind to. But I do not believe you are not destined to wilt away in some stately home, or a parish for that matter. You are in possession of a unique skill set, and you must travel the world and share it.”</p><p>Jihoon blinks at him, chest swelling with pleased surprise and a flicker of confusion, “You mean…my love of Lepidopterology?”</p><p>Seungcheol huffs a quiet laugh, “I was actually referring to your remarkable intelligence, your ability to think outside the box and perform under pressure. And yes, your love of Lepidopterology is also important. It’s good to have hobbies you love and share them with the world. What makes you happy is what makes you special.” He holds Jihoon’s eye as he speaks, and there is something so open and honest in his expression that Jihoon feels warmed by it.</p><p>“That is a lovely sentiment Seungcheol—but unfortunately I no longer have a wealthy Uncle to support my studies, and the rest of my family do not share my interests.”</p><p>Seungcheol’s already waving him off, like it’s all inconsequential. “I would not fill you with hope if I had not already planned my hand in this. I have already decided I will be your patron.”</p><p>“You can’t be serious.” Jihoon scoffs, though his heart does a happy little pitter patter.</p><p>Seungcheol shrugs and smiles. “I am in need of an apprentice. Someone to accompany me as I scour the world for unholy threats. We have already proven that we work well together, I cannot see why this partnership shouldn’t continue.” His face turns bright red and he coughs. “Besides, I am still rather new to this whole thing, and I’d much prefer not to do it alone.”</p><p>Jihoon tries to make a noncommittal sound of non-encouragement. It comes out a little more committal. And also sounding a little like, <em>‘when do we leave?’</em></p><p>“You—you’d really take me with you? You don’t think I’m alarmingly small?”</p><p>Seungcheol makes a face like he’s thinking about it. “I <em>do</em> think you’re small. You’re the smallest grown man I have ever met in my entire life, and I suppose that yes, that <em>can</em> be rather alarming if I think about it long enough.”</p><p>Jihoon punches him in the arm.</p><p>“What I <em>mean</em> is, do you really think I would be any use to you?” Recognizing that he sounds unbearably self-deprecating and bitter, Jihoon smirks and says, “You <em>did</em> once say I struck you as the academic sort.”</p><p>That actually provokes a slight wince from Seungcheol. "Right," he says, under the breath. "I did say that. <em>But</em> if it hadn’t been for your aptitude for scholarly pursuits, I would never have translated those texts and discovered the key to killing your Uncle. And has it not been for your tenacity, I would have given up and let that horde devour me. As for your physical abilities in a fight, I think you have just proven a lack of inherent skill does not directly equate to inability. What you lacked in grace, you made up for in resilience, and I am willing to teach you how to master the skills necessary. If, that is, you are willing to learn.”</p><p>There's certainty in Seungcheol's words; he's not just being optimistic. He knows there's truth in his assertion, and he speaks with a firm confidence that leaves no room for doubt</p><p>“I <em>do</em> enjoy learning things.” Jihoon says brightly.</p><p>Seungcheol grins and jostles his shoulder, “Then—we are in agreement?”</p><p>Jihoon's heart feels lighter in his chest—thudding fast and giddy—and he can't help the smile that twitches at both corners of his mouth. He knows what's being asked of him and what's being offered. It's not going to be good, clean fun, it's <em>not</em> going to fall easily under his control, and with one twist of bad luck, they both might end up horribly dead somewhere.</p><p>But even with all the risks stacked high, the benefit is many times higher. And for now, he's going to let it be as simple as that.</p><p>"Yes, I think we are."</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Setting his quill down, Jihoon presses his lips together as he reads through his letter.</p><p>His first attempt at writing home hadn’t worked out that well, seeing as it was quite difficult to find the words to explain what had transpired at Uncle Weerus’ estate without sounding like a complete and utter <em>lunatic</em>. But with Seungcheol’s guiding hand—and various omissions, he was finally able to build a more breakfast table appropriate explanation for his sudden departure from the country that is both plausible and much less <em>incriminating</em>.  </p><p>Perhaps one day he will be able to tell his family the truth of what happened that night, but for now—<em>Uncle Weerus set fire to himself and ran about murdering his entire staff</em>—will have to do.</p><p>“Oh—” He gasps at the unexpected slide of cool metal against the back of his neck, closely followed by the brush and twist of fingertips and knuckles on his skin. Gentle and tickling, before they shift away, leaving just the cold metal.</p><p>Jihoon tips his head backwards to study Seungcheol’s face. “What is it? A protective charm?”</p><p>“Ah, no. It’s uhm, just a pendant actually. I uhm...I spotted in the market. I thought you might like it.” Seungcheol says slowly, every thought, every hesitation and every conflicting emotion writ clear on his face.</p><p>Jihoon tries to look at his own throat and fails, but the pendant’s shape feels strangely familiar under his fingertips. A shape he would know without looking.</p><p>He reaches for the small mirror on the desk anyway, tilts it down to examine the Butterfly pendant resting just bellow the hollow of his throat.</p><p>It’s a beautiful design and lovingly crafted—delicate, yet not overtly feminine. And it’s a Blue Morpho Butterfly too, a favourite species of Jihoon’s. He doesn’t recall ever mentioning that to Seungcheol though, but the man clearly has good instincts.  </p><p>“Seungcheol, this is so—” He begins, then trails off, abruptly unsure of how to finish the sentence without creating more awkwardness between them.</p><p>There’s been a great deal of awkwardness <em>already</em>, just learning how to behave around each other, sharing space and time and meals together. Moments so awkward Seungcheol often has to excuse himself for long strolls and Jihoon rushes off to splash some cold water on his face. How he finishes that sentence will determine if they rise to <em>newer</em> heights of awkwardness, or if they can finally settle against each other, like spoons in a silverware drawer.</p><p>“This is very sweet of you Seungcheol. You didn’t have to.” He finally manages to croak out.  </p><p>Seungcheol bumps his shoulder on the sloped roof as he attempts a shrug, uncharacteristically awkward like he’s suddenly twice his usual size.</p><p>“Well, I know, but…we haven’t done as much butterfly watching as I promised.” His gaze flits about the room, anxious, before refocusing somewhere in the vicinity of his boots, “I just thought…perhaps this can make up for it. At least for a little while.”</p><p>Jihoon hides his smile with the back of one hand, as if that might change the fact that his face is bright red. It seems the awkwardness is set to continue for now, but he can’t say he minds when Seungcheol is all the more adorable for it.</p><p>“This is more than enough for me. Thank you Seungcheol.”</p><p>Seungcheol smiles at his boots, and honestly, if Jihoon turns any pinker he will probably start glowing. Before either of them can embarrass themselves further, Jihoon takes a deep breath and says as fast as he can, “I think I figured out how we can stun that Chimera. Come, let me show you what I’ve learned.”</p><p>FIN?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What's that? I wrote a 40k fic and they didn't even kiss?? Yep. That's how I roll now. Blue balls galore. </p><p>In all seriousness though, I did create a poll on twitter and offered a choice between regency smut and regency slowburn, and what can I say, the slowburn won. </p><p>Did I expect the first installment to be this lengthy? No. But this was mostly scene setting and the following updates, were they travel together and get in (more) danger and fall (deeper) in love, should be shorter. Hopefully :))</p><p> </p><p>Before anyone jumps into action to highlight any plot holes/major historical and time period inaccuracies, I'll save you the time. I'm well aware of them. :(( This is in no way an accurate depiction of anything. I did do a lot of research for this, but stringing together a coherent plot and remaining faithful to historical facts is really damn hard. Mostly this fic was meant to be a little side project for me while I re-uploaded my older works, but as usual, it ended up consuming all my time!</p><p>Hopefully it's been worth it though, and someone has enjoyed it? And if so, please let me know so I am motivated to continue this story arc ;)</p><p>Also! Thank you to Weerus...for letting me use their name. Otherwise it would probably have been Uncle Sehun ರ_ರ</p></blockquote></div></div>
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